A Glimpse Of Home
by Clowns or Midgets
Summary: One night Sam goes on a pizza run and doesn't return. Dean searches for him, not knowing they are going up against something older and more powerful that any of them imagined. When they find him, their problems double as Sam is not the same man he was before.
1. Chapter 1

**Thanks go to Gredelia1 for pre-reading and to Snarkymuch2 for giving me this plot bunny.**

* * *

**_Chapter One_**

Sam pulled on his jacket and grabbed the keys from the side-table. "I'm heading out for pizza. You want anything?"

"Beer," Dean called from the couch. "And pie."

Sam nodded. "Pie, got it."

Dean turned his attention from the TV and scowled at Sam. "You better have it. I don't want cake. I don't want tart. I want pie!"

Sam grinned. "When have I ever forgotten the pie?"

"Too many times to count."

Sam turned to where Bobby was seated behind his desk. "You need anything?"

Bobby looked up from the book he was reading and yawned. "A bottle of the good stuff."

Sam nodded and headed out of the door. He climbed into the Impala and turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life, vibrating the seat. Sam enjoyed the feel of being in the car, it was familiar and comforting, and he needed a little comfort after their encounter with Eve. She may be dead and defeated now, but the time she had spoken while wearing the guise of Mary Winchester had troubled Sam. He wondered how Dean felt about it. He didn't ask—Dean would only accuse him of instigating a chick flick moment—but he still wondered.

When he came to the town, he pulled up in front of the pizzeria. Patting the hood as he passed, he opened the door to the restaurant, smiling as he heard the bell tinkle overhead. He and Dean came by here a lot when staying at Bobby's, and they had an amiable relationship with the owner and his wife.

"Sam." Marcus, the owner, greeted him as he stepped inside. "What can I get for you this evening?"

Sam smiled at the welcome. He and Dean had never had a real home, not since Dean was four years old anyway, but Sioux Falls was as close as they'd come. There was a nice community feel to the place, and that, coupled with the friendly Sheriff Mills, made them feel at home.

"I'd like two large with the works, please," Sam said.

Marcus nodded and called through the hatch to the kitchen. "Two Winchester specials!"

There was an answering call and Marcus nodded.

Sam opened his wallet and handed over the bills to cover his order.

"How are you and that brother of yours?" Marcus asked.

"We're good," Sam said, pulling up one of the stools and sitting at the counter. "Been busy here?"

Marcus spread his arms, gesturing to the almost empty restaurant.

"It's early," Sam reasoned.

He nodded. "True. I am hoping for more later." There was a call from the kitchen and Marcus excused himself.

Sam pulled over a newspaper that was on the counter and flipped through it. He didn't find anything hinting towards a hunt, and he closed it with a sigh. Maybe, now that Eve was defeated, they'd have a few days of peace before the next fugly reared its head. He hoped so.

Marcus came out of the kitchen laden with two large boxes and he handed them to Sam. "Enjoy."

"I'm sure I will," Sam said. Waving goodbye, he left the restaurant and went out to the car. He set the boxes on the roof as he reached into his pocket for the keys.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and he turned to look around the small parking lot. There was no one that he could see, but he was sure he wasn't alone. He reached slowly for the back of his jeans before remembering that he hadn't brought out his gun with him. Cursing his stupidity, he hurried to unlock the car door. The key snagged in the lock and he fumbled with it. His palms were sweating. He didn't know how or why, but he sensed he was in trouble.

"Sam Winchester."

Sam spun on his heel. The voice was soft, so soft it might just have been the wind passing through the trees at the edge of the parking lot, but he didn't think it was.

"Who's there?" he asked, pleased to find that his voice was steady, betraying none of his fear.

Sam quit trying to unlock the car door, and he reached for his phone. His fingers shook as he dialed the number, but before the call could connect, he felt a presence behind him. He turned but saw nothing. A split second later, irresistible lethargy swept through him, and he felt himself falling as his vision darkened and he lost consciousness.

* * *

Dean was just settling into the plot of the movie when he heard the phone ring and Bobby's gruff voice answering. He returned his attention to the movie playing out on the TV and thought of the pizza his brother had gone to get. His stomach rumbled in anticipation.

"Dean!" Bobby called. "Get in here."

There was something in Bobby's tone that played on Dean's instincts. He sounded worried. Dean jumped up and marched into the study. "What's up?"

Bobby covered the mouthpiece of the phone and spoke to Dean. "It's Sheriff Mills. She's looking for Sam. What have you boys been doing?"

Dean shrugged. He couldn't think of any reason Sheriff Mills would be looking for Sam. They hadn't done anything in town worthy of her attention.

"She wants to talk to you," Bobby said.

Dean reached for the phone with a sense of trepidation in his stomach. What had Sam done now? Had something happened to him?

"Sheriff?"

"Are you and Sam playing some kind of game with Marcus Carrolli?"

Dean's eyebrows rose. "Who?"

"The owner of the Pizzeria Italia on Main Street."

"Sure, I know who you mean. What about him?"

"He called up saying Sam's disappeared."

Dean's jaw tightened. "What _exactly_ did he say?"

"That your car was left in the parking lot and that the pizzas Sam brought were on the roof but Sam was nowhere in sight."

Dean looked to Bobby, worry clawing at him. "I don't know what you're talking about, Sheriff," he said. "Me and Sam aren't screwing around with anyone. Something's happened."

"My kind of something or your kind?" Her tone was businesslike with an undercurrent of concern.

"I don't know," Dean said. "Look, no offence, but I've gotta get off the phone. I need to check out the scene."

"Okay, Dean. Well, you—"

Dean didn't hear anymore. He tossed the phone back to Bobby and reached for his jacket.

"What's going on?" Bobby asked.

"Something's happened to Sam," Dean said. "The car and the pizza he went to get are in the parking lot of the pizza place but Sam's nowhere in sight."

Bobby got to his feet and grabbed his own jacket from the back of the chair he was sitting on. "Well, let's not waste time kicking our heels here. Let's get down there."

Dean was already at the door as Bobby finished speaking. They hurried out to Bobby's Chevelle, and Bobby tossed Dean the keys. Dean was glad of it. He was anxious and overwhelmed and he didn't think he would have the patience to sit quietly in the passenger seat while Bobby drove. He needed to be doing something.

When he had Bobby were in, he started the engine and steered them through the stacks of junkers to the main road. When they were clear of the junkyard, Dean pressed down on the accelerator and coaxed some speed out of the dilapidated engine.

"He'll be fine," Bobby said encouragingly. "He might just have left the car there while he went to the grocery store to pick up your pie."

"With the pizza on the roof?" Dean asked, his hands tightening on the steering wheel.

Bobby rubbed a hand over his beard. "He could have just… I don't know, forgotten."

Dean shook his head. There was something more happening here. He could feel it in his gut. Something had happened to Sam.

Sam's mental wall occurred to him. Had something happened to shatter it? Was he going to find his brother motionless on the floor somewhere, trapped inside memories of Hell, or would it be something worse?

He closed his eyes for a second, pushing the thoughts away, and then opened them and concentrated on the road once again. Fixing his attention on the present helped stop his mind rushing away with him to worst-case scenarios.

When he pulled onto Main Street, he saw the patrol car parked beside the Impala and knew Sheriff Mills was there. He was glad of her presence. She might be able to help. He pulled the car to a halt and climbed out.

Standing beside Sheriff Mills was Marcus, a man Dean had met a few times when coming to pick up pizza. He looked tense and worried.

"What happened?" Dean asked the man as soon as he was within a few feet of him.

"Sam came in. He brought pizza and we talked," Marcus said. "Just like any other time. He left and I went to work in the kitchen. When I came back, I saw the car was still here. I came out, to make sure Sam was okay, but he wasn't here. The pizzas were on the roof of the car, and the key was in the lock."

Dean's eyes widened. The sheriff hadn't shared that little nugget of information. Whatever had happened to Sam had happened fast if he hadn't had a chance to get into the safety of the car.

"I've scoped around," the sheriff said, "but he's not here. I've got my patrol guys out looking."

Dean nodded. "Thanks."

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed Sam's number from memory. There was a brief moment of silence and then Dean heard a familiar ringtone coming from the bushes at the edge of the parking lot. He and Bobby exchanged a dark look. Dean crossed to the bushes, and batted away the thorns that bit at his jacket sleeves. He bent down and extricated the small phone from the dirt. The screen was busted but it was still in working order. Dean's own name flashed up at him from through the cracked plastic.

"It's Sam's," he said, turning back to look at Bobby and the sheriff.

Bobby scrubbed a hand over his tense face. "Maybe he dropped it."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "You think?"

Bobby shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know."

Dean shook his head. "Sammy wouldn't leave it lying around." He pocketed the phone and crossed back to the car. He pulled the keys out of the lock and tossed them from palm to palm, his mind working overtime. He knew what he needed to do next, but he couldn't do it under the watchful eye of Marcus.

"I'm going to scout around," he said, crossing the parking lot and moving to the rear of the restaurant. Part of him was still worried he would find Sam on the floor, hidden behind one of the dumpsters, but when he looked, he saw they were void of any welcome sign of his brother.

When he was sure he was out of sight, he raised his eyes heavenward. "Cas, I need you, buddy. It's Sam."

There was a rusting sound, like sails in the wind, and then Castiel was there. "Dean?"

"Sam's disappeared," Dean said.

Castiel's brow furrowed with concern. "What happened?"

"Sam went on a food run and he didn't come back. The car was left here with the pizzas on the roof, but Sam is gone." He raked a hand through his hair. "He's just disappeared, Cas."

"You believe the wall could be damaged?"

"I don't know what to think. Sam wouldn't just walk off on his own."

"No, I do not think he would," Castiel said somberly. "The wall could have been compromised, though I doubt it. You said that he was rendered unconscious the last time some of the memories slipped through."

"Yeah, but we're going blind with this wall thing. He could be wandering around with no clue who he is."

Castiel nodded. "It is troublesome. What do you want me to do?"

"Can you have a look around? I'm going to check the town, but there is only so much I can do. Having an angel on the lookout would be awesome."

"Of course. I will do all I can. If you have need of me, pray."

That said, Castiel disappeared with a faint rustling sound and Dean was left alone in the alley. He turned and made his way back to Bobby and the sheriff, fear gripping his chest. Despite all the people on side to help him look, he couldn't keep away the thought that if they found Sam, it would be too late.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks go to Gredelia1 for pre-reading and to Snarkymuch2 for giving me the plot bunny. **

**This chapter is for JudyH as she broke her rule for this story.**

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**_Chapter Two_**

The first thing Saw was aware of was the light pressing against his closed eyelids. He wasn't sure where he was or what was happening. He opened his eyes and was assaulted with a bright light that hurt his retinas. He snapped his eyes closed again, groaning.

He allowed his other senses to reach out and give him clues to his whereabouts. He was lying down on something soft, a bed or a cot. There was an antiseptic scent in the air, almost like bleach. He could hear voices and footfalls but they were muted, as if he was hearing them from behind a door. He tried to bring a hand up to his face but he wasn't able to. Something was holding him back.

Shocked, he opened his eyes again and winced as the light burned his eyes. Slowly, the room came into focus and he raised his hands. The reason behind his mobility was explained immediately by the leather restraints encircling his wrists. He lifted his head and looked down his body to see his feet were bare and his ankles had matching restraints. When he'd gone out for pizza, he'd been wearing jeans and a shirt, now he was wearing pale blue scrubs.

Looking around the room, he saw that it was a stark white and the walls were cushioned with no windows. He had been in this position once before, back in Oklahoma, when he and Dean had checked themselves into the psych ward to help Martin break a case. Then, the wraith had him trapped in a padded cell as she prepared to feed on him.

His location identified, he tried to find the memories that came before to explain how he had ended up in a psych ward again. There was nothing there though. He remembered being in the pizzeria, he remembered getting to the car, and then there was the feeling of being watched. There had been a voice that whispered to him, and then he had been knocked unconscious by someone or something. That's all there was. There was nothing else to help him explain how he had come to be here.

He licked his lips and called out in a hoarse voice. "Dean?"

There was no answering voice, though he hadn't really been expecting one. He was alone in this room. It was instinct to call for his brother though. Dean was always there. He always took care of Sam. He wouldn't have just let Sam wind up in the loony bin.

He tugged at his restraints, hoping to find some weakness that he could exploit to get free, but they held fast. He needed help. He could still hear footsteps moving about outside his room, and he called to them.

"Is someone there? I need help."

There was a beeping noise, and then the door clicked open. A man walked in and Sam felt his anxiety increase tenfold. The man was huge, as tall as Sam, with bulging muscles that strained against the fabric of his white scrubs. He was an imposing figure until he smiled and the harsh lines of his face softened.

"Good to see you're back with us, Sam," he said. "How are you feeling?"

Sam assessed his feelings. He was scared, anxious, and worried for his brother, but he didn't think the man was going to want to hear about that, so he kept it strictly to the physical. "I'm thirsty."

The man nodded. "I can do something about that." He swiped a card through a slot at the side of the door, and Sam heard the beeping noise again. The man left the room and the lock clicked into place behind him.

Sam should have expected it, he was already tied to the bed after all, but the sound of the lock engaging made him anxious. He didn't want to be locked in like this. He was vulnerable without even his hands to defend himself.

The man came back into the room and squatted beside the bed. "You ready for a drink?"

Sam licked his dry lips and nodded. "Please."

The man uncapped a bottle of water and took a straw from his pocket. He lowered it to Sam's mouth, and Sam snagged the straw with his mouth and began to slurp down the cool water. It eased his raw throat.

The man took away the bottle before it was finished, saying he didn't want Sam to make himself sick. Sam sighed, but he was unable to do anything to stop him, incapacitated as he was.

"Now, do you think you can stay calm for me if I take off the restraints?" the man asked.

Sam nodded eagerly. He desperately wanted the restraints off. They came with powerful connotations to him, demon blood and the panic room for starters.

The man unbuckled his wrists and then moved down to his ankles. Sam sat up and massaged his wrists, relishing the freedom of movement.

"You feel up to taking a walk?" the man asked.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Where are we going?"

"I thought you'd be more comfortable in your own room, but you're welcome to stay in here if you like. The views aren't up to much, though."

Sam smiled in spite of himself. "Okay."

He turned on the bed and planted his bare feet on the floor. His toes curled up from the coldness of the tiles, and the man nodded sympathetically.

"This room always runs a little cold. You've got some slippers in your room."

The news of the cool room might once have piqued Sam's interest, thinking of a ghost, but he was too overwhelmed by his own situation to think of a hunt. The rest of what the man said sank in. He had his own room, so this wasn't a new thing, him being here.

"Do you know where my brother is?" he asked.

The man frowned. "Dean, right?"

Sam nodded, relieved that they had at least heard of Dean.

"I've not seen him," the man said. There was something in his expression that worried Sam. Sam read people for a living, and this man was hiding something.

"Do you mean you've not seen him today?" he asked tentatively.

The man shook his head. "This is the sort of thing you need to talk to your doctor about. She will be able to explain things better than I can."

That worried Sam. Had something happened to Dean? Cool fear twisted his guts, and he swallowed convulsively. "He's okay, right?"

The man nodded energetically. "There's no need to go upsetting yourself. Dean's just fine."

"Then where is he? He wouldn't have just left me here. Does he know where I am?"

The man raked a hand over his face. "I can't answer these questions for you, Sam. These are things you need to talk to your doctor about."

Nothing the man said was reassuring Sam. He wanted to know how he had come to be here and where Dean was. He wouldn't have just left Sam here unless… The thought of Death's wall in his mind came to him. What if it had broken? Had Dean been forced to bring him here, wherever here was? No, Dean wouldn't do that. No matter how bad things got, he wouldn't leave Sam in a place like this.

"Come on, Sam. Let's take you back to your room."

"I need to see the doctor," Sam said. The doctor was apparently the one with all the answers, and Sam needed to be able to ask his questions, the most pressing of which was where his brother was.

"I know you do," the man said, "but she's not in right now. I guess you lost track of time in the room, but it's around three-am."

Sam sighed and nodded. He pushed himself to his feet, and paused for a moment as his vision swam.

"You're going to be a little dizzy," the man said. "We had to dose you up pretty good to get you in here."

"What happened?" Sam asked. "Why was I being restrained?"

"That's something you can talk about with your doctor," the man said.

Sam rolled his eyes. It seemed this man was little more than a turnkey in this place.

The man swiped his card through the panel at the side of the door and the lock clicked. He swung the door open and gestured for Sam to go ahead of him. Sam stepped out into the hall and looked around. Unlike the room he had been in, the hall wasn't a stark white, but it was just as devoid of character. The walls were a pale cream, and the tiled floor was a slightly darker shade of the same color. There were white doors around the one he had exited with the same security card panel at the side. Sam wondered whether there was a padded room behind each door. How many could they possibly need?

The man led him down the hall and through a door at the end. There was a panel beside the door, but this one had a keypad instead of a swipe card port. The man shielded his hand and entered an eight-digit number. Sam marveled at the security of the place. He needed to get a hold of one of those keycards and the codes for the door if he was going to be able to break out of this place. That had to be his next step. Once he knew how he had ended up here and where Dean was, he would have to get to him.

They passed into a new corridor, and Sam saw that the walls here were interspersed with doors too, but these had glass panes so you could see inside. The rooms were cast in darkness, so all he could make out were shadows, but they looked like bedrooms.

At the end of the hall, the man opened a door and flicked on a light before gesturing Sam inside. Sam crossed the threshold and looked around. It was small with a bed in the center of the room and an end table with a lamp on it beside. At the other end of the room was a chest of drawers and a door that Sam guessed led into a bathroom. The walls were the same cream as the halls had been and the furniture was all white. The effect was harsh on the eyes.

"Here you go, Sam, Home sweet home."

Sam looked around and thought no place had ever felt less like home.

"If you're feeling up to it, I need to ask you a few questions," the man said.

"I'm good," Sam said, crossing the room and perching down on the edge of the bed. "What do you want to know?"

"First off, can you tell me your name?"

"Sam Winchester," he answered promptly.

The man frowned and his mouth pressed into a thin line. "Do you know where you are?"

Sam shook his head. "I get that I'm in some kind of hospital, but other than that, I don't know where I am."

"Well, this is the Lincoln Center.

That triggered something in Sam's mind. He knew that name. It was a mental hospital in Sioux Falls. The location lent credence to the theory that Dean had brought him here, though he wished it didn't.

"Sioux Falls?" Sam asked.

The man nodded. "That's good, Sam. You have some recollection of your location, even if you are not aware of it."

That wasn't strictly true, Sam thought, but he wasn't about to correct the man.

"Do you know who I am?"

Sam looked apologetic. "Sorry, no."

"That's okay," the man said. "I'm Abe." He held out a hand to Sam.

Sam took his hand and shook it. "Nice to meet you."

The man, Abe, frowned. "This isn't our first meeting, Sam."

Sam shrugged. "I'm sorry, I don't remember meeting you, and unless you are about to answer some of my questions…"

"More than my job's worth," Abe said amiably.

Sam sighed out a heavy breath. "Then you're going to have to forgive me."

Abe nodded. "Fair enough. Now, I'll leave you to get some rest and you can prepare yourself for the morning."

"What's happening in the morning?" Sam asked.

"Well, with any luck, the doc will be in and we can see about getting some of your questions answered." Abe clapped his hands together and made for the door. "You get some sleep."

Sam watched him go, and his heart contracted painfully in his chest as the lock snicked into place as Abe closed the door behind him.

Sam lay down on the bed and brought his knees up to his chest. He thought over what he knew and what he guessed. He was apparently in a mental hospital, and though he didn't know how he had got there, he would find out in the morning when he spoke to his doctor. He didn't know where Dean or Bobby or Cas were, or why they weren't here to tell him themselves. His only guess was that this time he'd really gone off the deep end. Nothing else could have landed him here.

Closing his eyes, he exhaled a breath and tried to get some sleep, thinking that the morning would at least clear up some of the confusion if not make things better.

* * *

Dean was panicked. He had spent the last few hours walking around Sioux Falls, looking for a sign of his brother. He had checked alleys and parks and bars but there was nothing, no hint of where Sam could have gone. He wasn't looking alone; Sheriff Mills was out in her patrol car searching the streets while Bobby stayed back at the house in case Sam made his own way home.

He came to the last place he could think of to look—Falls Park—and he trudged along the path.

Something caught his eye at the bandstand. There was a huddled figure lying on the ground. He ran towards the figure, his heart hovering somewhere in his throat, trying not to think of what could have happened to lay his brother out like that. The thoughts came to him anyway, pelting his mind with horrors: the wall coming down, a mugger with a knife or a gun, a demon or monster of the sort they hunted. They were all played out in his mind in the seconds it took him to cross the park and reach the huddled form.

"Sammy! Sam!"

He was so focused on scanning the body for injury that he didn't realize at first that there was something wrong with the scene. The man he had found had dark hair but it was longer than Sam's, and he had a beard that Sam never boasted. He turned the figure, searching for a sign of blood, and the man came to life with a start.

"What the hell!" he gasped. "Who are you?"

Dean stepped back, recognizing at last that it wasn't Sam but a grimy looking homeless man that had taken shelter in the bandstand.

Mumbling an apology, Dean stepped back, raising his hands in a placatory gesture. The man Dean had mistaken for his brother got to his feet and tugged his coat close around him.

"Leave me alone!" he shouted.

"I'm sorry," Dean said. "I thought you were someone else."

"I am someone else. Someone you don't want to mess with."

Dean opened his jacket, revealing the gun nestled in his inside pocket. "So am I."

The man raised his hands and shuffled backwards. "I don't want no trouble."

"Me neither." Dean let the jacket fall closed again, hiding the gun from view. He turned his back on the man and strode towards the park exit. He guessed he shouldn't have scared the man, but his stress levels were high and his patience short.

When he had put a suitable distance between himself and the bandstand, he jogged toward the exit, wondering where to start looking next.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading, reviewing and adding this story to their faves and alerts. You are all making me happier than I can say with your support. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks go to Gredelia1 for pre-reading and to Snarkymuch2 for giving me the plot bunny. This story is un-beta'd so any mistakes that remain are my own. **

* * *

Chapter Three

Sam was woken in the morning by the door clicking open and a loud voice calling, "Rise and shine."

He groaned and rolled over. He hadn't got much sleep. For a hospital, the place was surprisingly loud. There were people walking up and down the corridor all night and voices calling out.

"Come on, Sam. You don't want to miss breakfast, do you?"

He raised his head from the pillow and saw an unfamiliar man standing by the door. Like Abe, he was powerfully built and dressed in white scrubs. Sam pushed himself to the edge of the bed and eased himself to his feet. He didn't feel as dizzy as he had in the night, but his mind still felt foggy.

The man stepped inside the room and gave Sam an assessing glance. "Abe told me you've been having some confusion."

Sam nodded. "Yeah." He certainly had. He was confused about how he had come to be here in the first place and even more confused that his brother wasn't with him.

"Well, let me simplify things for you. My name is Doug and I'm your assigned nurse today."

Sam held out a hand for him to shake. "Sam Winchester."

The man frowned and shook his hand. "Okay then. You get yourself cleaned up, and I'll be back in a few to take you down to breakfast." He smiled at Sam and then left the room; the lock snicked into place behind him.

Sam sighed and raked a hand through his hair. He was locked in again. He tried not to let it bother him, but he wasn't entirely successful. Deciding distraction was the way to go, he made his way across the room and through the door he had seen the night before. He was right in thinking it led to a bathroom. There was a washbasin and toilet against one wall and a bathtub with shower attachment on the other.

He set the water to running and stood in front of the basin, looking into mirror. He didn't look good. His jaw had a dark line of stubble against it, and his eyes were shadowed, from his restless night or some more ominous reason, he didn't know. He checked the toiletries on the shelf and shampoo and soap, but no razor.

He stripped off his clothes and stepped under the hot spray of water. It felt good against his skin, and he didn't rush the process of shampooing his hair and washing himself off. It was something reassuring and familiar in a place where everything was confusing and different. It was only the hammering on the bathroom door that forced him to get out of the shower and wrap a towel around his waist. He was so lost in the simple motions of the shower that he half expected it to be Dean waiting for him when he opened the door.

He was disappointed as he opened the door and was met with Doug's disapproving face. "You okay in there?" he asked.

Sam nodded and pushed his wet hair back from his face. "Yeah, I'm fine." He rubbed a hand across his jaw. "Can I have a shave? I looked but I didn't see a razor." He guessed razors weren't something that was left lying around in a mental hospital.

"Try your bedside cabinet," Doug said.

Sam crossed the room and opened the drawer of his bedside cabinet. There was a battery-operated electric razor in there. Sam frowned. Dean had an electric razor, but Sam preferred a wet shave. Shrugging off his annoyance, he took the razor back into the bathroom and turned it on. With a few swipes of the razor, his face was clear again, and he examined himself in the mirror. He looked more like himself now, even with the dark shadows under his eyes.

Uncomfortable under Doug's close scrutiny, he dressed quickly and slipped his feet into the plain white sneakers beside the bed. When he was done, he turned to Doug for guidance.

"Ready to eat?"

Sam nodded. His stomach rolled with hunger, making him feel eager for food of any kind, even hospital food.

Doug held open the door and gestured for him to go out ahead of him. Sam stepped into the hall and looked around. The bright fluorescent lights that had lit the hall in the night were still on, and Sam noticed there were no windows to provide natural light.

"Come on, Sam," Doug said, tugging on his arm.

Sam followed him along the hall and through a door into a large room. There were tables set out in the center and couches at the edges of the walls. Unlike the hall, this room had large windows spilling in the natural light. Sam wanted to go to the window, to look out and maybe get his bearings, but Doug tugged on his arm and led him through a door at the far end of the room.

The next room was instantly recognizable as a cafeteria; there were tables and chairs dotted around, and at one side of the room, there was a series of stainless steel counters with glass sneeze guards. Behind the counter was a formidable looking woman armed with a silver ladle.

"Let's get you fed," Doug said, leading him over to the counters and then addressing the woman. "Marcy, Sam's having a little confusion today, so I need you to take good care of him."

The woman's scowl deepened as she looked at Sam. "What d'ya want?"

"Umm…" Sam examined the soggy looking toast and grey oatmeal on offer. "I'm not really hungry," he lied.

"You need to eat," Doug said. "Your meds can't be taken on an empty stomach."

Meds? Sam was worried. It was bad enough that he was trapped in this place, but if they were medicating him, his breakout could get a lot more complicated.

"Why am I on medication?" he asked.

Doug and Marcy exchanged a look laden with meaning.

"You can discuss that with your doctor," Doug said.

"When will that be?" Sam was wondering if he would ever get to meet this mythical doctor that was the one apparently able to answer his many questions.

"After you've eaten something." Doug began picking up items from the counter and placing them on a tray. He finished with a carton of milk and then he strode over to a table in the center of the room.

Sam followed dutifully and sat down, pulling his tray over to him. Doug sat opposite him, and Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Do patients usually get such close care?" he asked.

Doug shrugged. "Honestly, no, but since you're struggling a bit this morning, we thought it'd be best for someone to keep an eye on you."

Uncomfortable with Doug's brutal honesty, Sam cast his eyes down to his tray. There was oatmeal, toast and a bowl of tinned peaches, and none of it looked particularly appetizing. Knowing he needed to cooperate and eat if he was going to be able to see his doctor, Sam picked up a spoon and started the most appetizing item on the tray: the peaches.

They may have looked half-decent, but they tasted bad. They slipped down his throat, slimy and cold, triggering his gag reflex. He forced them down though, thinking that they were the best of a bad lot.

As he chewed, he looked around the room. It was largely empty, with only a few other tables occupied and a couple of people dressed in the white scrubs of staff roaming around. One of the people that was clearly a patient was nodding his head to an unheard beat and mumbling to himself. Another was a woman with ratty looking blond hair. She was scarfing down her breakfast looking around the room. She caught Sam's eye and he looked down automatically, embarrassed to be caught staring.

"It seems a little quiet in here," Sam said. "Aren't there more patients?"

Doug leaned back in his chair. "We have beds for twenty, but only half of them are occupied at the moment. The emphasis is on care in the community these days, so a lot of people that would have been our patients are out in the real world, under close monitoring of course.

Sam nodded thoughtfully, filing away that information for later.

He eyed his small carton of milk with a mistrustful eye. "Don't suppose there's any chance of a coffee," he said.

"Afraid not," Doug said. "Caffeine is a stimulant."

Sam held back a snort with effort. It was okay for them to pump people with drugs but coffee was a no no.

He gulped down his milk, wincing at the slimy taste, and set the carton back on the tray. "I think I'm done here." He hadn't touched the oatmeal or toast but he couldn't bring himself to try either.

Doug looked like he wanted to argue, but he merely shook his head and picked up Sam's tray.

"Let's get you your meds and then we can see about getting you in with the doc."

Sam nodded energetically. He wasn't keen on the idea of meds, but a visit with the doctor was exactly what he wanted.

Doug took the tray to a rack in the corner and then he led Sam out onto the hall. Beside a door marked as office, there was a large glass window with a sliding panel. Doug knocked on it and a woman opened it.

"Sam's here for his meds," Doug said.

Sam grimaced. He wondered whether it was worth him trying to palm his meds or if they would notice. He didn't want to end up strapped to a table again.

The woman fumbled with something inside the office for a moment and then her hand extended through the window and she handed Doug a small paper cup. Doug handed it to Sam and he saw that there were three brightly colored pills inside. He eyed them mistrustfully.

"Down the hatch, Sam," Doug said, holding out a paper cup of water.

Grimacing, Sam tossed back the pills and swallowed them with a cup of water. He decided that it was a reasonable price to take the pills if it meant he would be able to see his doctor. Trying not to think of what Dean would say if he knew Sam was dosing himself with unknown drugs, he smiled at Doug. "Done."

Doug nodded appreciatively. "That's good. Let's see if the doctor is in yet."

They continued down the hall and through a secure door into another corridor. This one was decorated in the same beige on beige as the rest of the hospital, but the doors were all wood without the windows that had been on Sam's ward. Sam guessed this was office space, and therefore the inhabitants didn't need to be monitored.

"Wait here," Doug said, as they came to a door at the end of the hall.

Sam stood, leaning against the wall, as Doug knocked on the door and entered.

Sam heard him greeting someone, and then his voice lowered to a low rumble as he spoke. After a moment's conversation, he came back out into the hall.

"The doctor is ready for you, Sam," he said.

Sam took a deep steadying breath and entered the office.

Unlike the rest of the hospital, Sam had seen so far, this was decorated in light green with curtains at the wide window and a thick carpet. Sam gave the room only a passing glance; he was focused on the woman standing behind the desk. She was middle-aged, with graying hair. As Sam stepped in, her lips curved into a wide smile and she held out a hand to shake.

"Sam, it's good to see you again."

Sam shook her warm hand. "Hi."

"Now, I understand you are experiencing some confusion," she said, "so I will take things from the top to help you out."

Sam nodded gratefully.

"I am Doctor Angelus, and I have been assigned to your case since your arrival here at the Lincoln Center."

"How long have I been here?" Sam asked. The way she framed her words made him think that it had been more than an overnight stay.

"This is your twelfth month with us."

Sam exhaled in a rush. Twelve months! It didn't seem possible. How could he have been here so long and not remembered any of it. His head swam and he sank onto a chair opposite the desk without invitation. He didn't think his legs would have held him much longer.

"Are you okay, Sam?" Doctor Angelus asked.

Sam hung his head. "A year?"

"Yes. How long did you think it had been?"

"I don't know. The last thing I remember I was staying at Bobby's. I went on a pizza run."

The doctor looked at him sympathetically. "There was no pizza run, Sam. You were found in a local park, in the middle of a psychotic break."

Tears sprang to Sam's eyes and he held them back with pure force of will. He was not going to cry here. He was Sam Winchester, son of John and brother of Dean; he would not show that his heart was breaking.

"You were under the impression you were hunting a werewolf at the time," Doctor Angelus continued remorselessly.

That cleared up some of the confusion. Sam must have been on a hunt when he was taken. That didn't explain the missing weeks, or rather months, though. Why couldn't he remember the last year spent in this place?

"Why don't I remember?" he asked.

"You usually exhibit some confusion at the end of your episodes," she said. "That will likely clear up over the course of the day."

"Episodes?"

The doctor sighed. "Since your admission, you have been having episodes of extreme confusion. A series of psychotic breaks. During these episodes, you seem to revert to your delusion and we are forced to sedate and secure you for your own and other people's safety."

Did that mean he became violent? He couldn't imagine it of himself, but he didn't think the doctor would lie to him. Why would she? What was there to be gained by lying to him?

"Did I hurt anyone?" he asked.

"Not this time, not really. Abe has some impressive bruises from your struggle before we were able to pacify you, but he is used to that."

Sam frowned. Abe seemed like a nice guy. He didn't like to think that he had hurt him, but he could understand how it had happened. No one wanted to be strapped down to a cot.

Sam chewed his bottom lip and asked his most pressing question. "Where's my brother? Does he know I'm here?"

The doctor exhaled in a long sigh. "I will answer your questions, but it would help me if you could answer some of my own first. I need to know how deep your delusion goes before I tell you more. I don't want to add to your confusion."

"Sounds fair." He didn't particularly want to answer more questions, but he needed his own answered desperately, and this seemed like the only way it was going to happen.

"Before your admission, what were you doing?"

"I was on a pizza run," Sam said, wondering why she was asking something she already knew.

"I mean before that, what was your life before your admission?"

Sam considered carefully. He could hardly tell the truth that he and Dean were enjoying some downtime after killing the mother of all monsters. That would land him back in the padded room. As would any mention of angels and the civil war being fought in Heaven. He decided vague was the way to go.

"Me and my brother like to travel. We've been on a road trip across America. We were staying with a friend of the family for a while before we moved on."

The doctor noted something on a pad on her desk. "And before you started this road trip, what were you doing?"

Sam considered carefully before answering. It had been a long time since that fateful 'road trip' had begin. Before that, he was In Stanford with Jess.

"I was studying pre-law at Stanford."

The doctor smiled widely. "Yes, you were. Well done, Sam."

He didn't really know why he was being praised. Was she referring to the achievement in being accepted to the prestigious school or was something else happening?

"One more question and we're done," Doctor Angelus said, and Sam looked up to meet her eye. "What is your name?"

Sam frowned. He was unsure of a lot of things at the moment, but his name wasn't one of those things. "Sam Winchester."

The doctor shook her head sadly. "Your confusion is deeper than I realized." She noted something on her pad and then looked up at Sam. "Your name is Sam Wesson. Sam Winchester is the man of your delusion."

"And my delusion is?"

"We'll get to that at a later date," she said. "You are just recovering from an episode; I don't want to trigger another."

Sam didn't much like the idea of that, but the steely glint in the doctor's eyes told him it would be useless to argue.

She smiled and nodded. "Okay, your turn. Do you have any questions for me?"

Sam braced his hands on his knees and asked the question that had been burning at him since he woke up. "Where's my brother."

The doctor eyed him sympathetically. "Sam, I'm sorry, but you don't have a brother."

Sam's heart contracted painfully in his chest. "No! I do have a brother. His name's Dean. He wouldn't have left me here!"

The doctor shook her head slowly. "You have been here a year, Sam, and in that time, no one has visited you."

That sent the air rushing out of Sam in a gust. Not one visitor, no Dean or Bobby or Castiel. He bowed at the waist and tried to get his breathing under control.

"Sam? Do you need something to calm you down?" the doctor asked.

Sam shook his head brutally. He didn't want to be drugged up now. He needed his wits about him.

"I don't understand," he said slowly.

He felt like he had been kicked in the gut. What could he have done that was bad enough for Dean to leave him? He had stuck around after Sam freed Lucifer. What could he have done that was bad enough to warrant Dean abandoning him? Unless Dean couldn't come. Had something happened to him? Could he be…?

He raised his head and looked the doctor dead in the eye. "Where is my brother?" he asked through gritted teeth.

The doctor shook her head slowly. "I'm sorry, Sam. I don't want to have to be the one to tell you this, but your brother... well, he's dead."

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that is reading, especially those that are reviewing. I love hearing what you think. **

**Unless I can find time to update tomorrow, this will be the last chapter until Sunday as I am going away for the weekend. **

**CoM x **


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks go to Gredelia1 for pre-reading and to Snarkymuch2 for giving me the plot bunny. This story is un-beta'd so any mistakes that remain are my own. **

* * *

**Chapter Four**

Sam's mouth opened and a howl of grief escaped him. He folded in on himself, his face hidden in his hands. "No, no, no, no, no!"

"I'm sorry, Sam," the doctor said.

Sam moaned deep in his throat. He couldn't make sense of what the doctor was saying. Dean couldn't be dead, he just couldn't. He wouldn't leave Sam alone in the world.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and a voice saying reassuring nonsense but none of the words registered. All that mattered was the truth, and the truth was that the one member of his family left to him was dead. He couldn't stand it. He longed for the relief of unconsciousness, but his mind stayed defiantly aware.

"What happened?" he asked eventually. He needed to know who or what had done this so he could exact his revenge. Human or monster, they would pay.

The doctor shuffled some papers on her desk. "I understand there was a fire."

A fire? Caused by what? Sam had to know. He had to avenge his brother. It couldn't have been an accident. Dean was careful. It had to be someone's fault.

"You know this, Sam," the doctor said impatiently. "This isn't our first time having this conversation. I understand you are upset, but you are confusing matters."

Sam looked up at her balefully. Confusing matters? What did it matter if they'd had this conversation before? It felt like the first time to Sam. The grief that was overwhelming him was painful and new.

"I need you to listen to me, Sam. Can you do that?"

Sam didn't want to listen. He wanted to lay down somewhere and wait for the aching emptiness in his chest to kill him. He didn't want to be alive in a world where his brother was not. Not again. He couldn't do it. He had barely lasted four months before; he would not, could not, do it again.

"When you were a baby, you had a brother. His name was Dean. One night, there was a fire that claimed the life of your mother and older brother. Your father got you out of the house, but he was unable to pass through the fire to reach the rest of your family. Your brother died, Sam; he died when he was just four years old."

Sam shook his head. "No, that makes no sense. Dean was the one that got me out of the fire. My mom died, I know that, but Dean lived."

The doctor sighed. "No, Sam, you are confused."

Sam felt the first inklings of hope come to him. It wasn't him that was confused, it was the doctor. Dean _had_ saved him from that fire, the fire set by Azazel. Dean had carried him from the house.

"You grew up the only child of John Winchester," the doctor said remorselessly.

Sam shook his head and smiled ruefully. "No, Doc, you're wrong. I don't know how or why, but someone has lied to you not me. My brother saved me from that fire."

Doctor Angelus ran a hand through her hair and fixed Sam with a determined look. "This is the delusion talking, not you. You know this. Your mind is just playing tricks on you. There was no road trip, no stay with a friend; you came to us a year ago after your first psychotic break."

"Okay, I'm crazy," Sam said. "I'm not arguing with that, but I know my brother isn't dead. I would feel it if he was."

Sam had felt that aching emptiness once before, after the hounds had dragged Dean to Hell. He knew how it felt to live in a world without his brother, and this wasn't it. He almost laughed at the deliciousness of relief. Dean wasn't dead. He apparently was in hiding, which was troubling, but he was alive.

"Explain something to me," she said in a placating tone. "If your brother is alive, why haven't we ever seen him here?"

Sam shrugged. "He can't know where I am. If he did, he'd be here. I can call him though, let him know I'm okay." Dean had to be going out of his mind not knowing where Sam was for a whole year. When Sam finally got hold of him, he was going to be in for an ass kicking. Not that Sam cared, he would take whatever Dean had to give if only he could see him again.

Doctor Angelus seemed to be battling with herself. Her lips twisted into a grimace, as if she had tasted something bad. Eventually, she nodded and stood up behind her desk. "Okay, this is going against the rules, but you can call your brother and ask him to come here. Use my phone."

She turned the phone of her desk to face Sam, and he snatched up the receiver. He dialed quickly, knowing the number from memory. He waited anxiously for the call to connect, thinking that he was going to speak to his brother for the first time in a year. Dean was going to be so relieved.

"The number you dialed has not been recognized," a mechanical voice said. "Please check, and dial again."

Sam stared at the phone with a frown furrowing his brow. "I must have misdialed," he said.

He dialed again, paying attention to the numbers this time. The doctor watched him with an unusual expression, it was almost pitying. The same mechanical voice informed him that the number wasn't recognized. Without invitation, Sam pressed his fingers to the keys, this time recalling Bobby's number from memory. Yet again, the voice told him the number was not recognized. It could have been a mistake to misdial once, but three times was unlikely, even with the drugs running through his system, confusing him.

Sam set the receiver down in its cradle and looked up at the doctor. "I don't understand."

The doctor looked at him sympathetically. "There is no number to dial as there is no one to answer," she said. "I'm sorry, Sam, but this is what I am trying to tell you. You don't have a brother, not anymore."

Sam looked back at her and he felt the first tingling of anger coming to him. This woman was wrong. There was someone to answer. He was just getting the numbers wrong. He had to be.

He reached for the phone to try again, but the doctor reached out and laid a hand over the receiver. "No more, Sam."

"But I have to call them. They've got to be worried about me."

"There is no one to call," she said again. "There is no one to answer."

Sam shook his head. "You're wrong."

She sat down again and ran a hand down her skirt, smoothing the folds. She picked up the thick folder and leafed through it. "This, Sam, is the record of your time with us, and all we know of your history. In here it tells me how your brother and mother died, and what happened to you after."

Sam raised an eyebrow. This should be interesting. "Can I read it?" he asked.

"I don't think that's wise," she said. "There are things in here that you might find upsetting."

Sam sat back in his chair. "Doc, you're trying to tell me my brother's dead, things don't get much more upsetting than that."

She turned a page in the folder and read down the page. "What would you like to know?"

Sam considered carefully. He had heard how his brother was supposedly dead, and that had been bad, there couldn't be anything more upsetting than that in there than that. "Tell me everything," he said.

She looked doubtful but she flipped the pages until she was at the beginning again. "As I have said, when you were a baby, your mother and brother perished in a house fire. Your schooling was fragmented as you lived on the road. You attended many different schools but maintained good grades. You were given a full ride to Stanford, and you studied pre-law until…" She trailed off. "Do you remember what happened next, Sam?"

As if he could forget Jess. He had attended school until the night he came home from the Jericho hunt with Dean to find her on the ceiling. The image of her face as she was engulfed in flames was seared into his memory.

"Jess," he said sadly.

"That's right," the doctor said, nodding. "You went on a camping trip with some friends, and the night you came home, there was a tragic fire that killed your girlfriend, Jessica Moore."

Sam nodded. That was an acceptable explanation for what had happened to Jess. Whoever had given the doctor this history wouldn't have been able to say Sam was on a hunt with his brother; the camping trip was a good excuse for his absence.

Sam knew what happened next. He left Palo Alto with his brother and that set them on the long road of hunts that had at some point killed them both only to have them resurrected by demons and angels alike. That road had led them to a convent in Maryland where Sam had killed Lilith, thinking he was saving the world, only to destroy it. Then there had been the year of chaos as the apocalypse approached only to be diverted by Sam's own sacrifice. He knew all this, but he also knew that the doctor's file would have none of this information in it. It would have a fabricated past for him to endure.

"What happened next?" he asked.

"You dropped out of school and left California for a life on the road. Records get a bit sketchy there as you didn't conform to any conventional lifestyle. From what we understand, you lived on the road, a lot like you were raised, working menial jobs before moving on." She looked embarrassed. "You were an alcoholic, Sam."

Sam's eyebrows rose. He enjoyed a beer now and then, and there was the occasional bout of whiskey soaked oblivion, but he was no alcoholic.

"You're doing better now," she said encouragingly. "You have one year sober. You should be proud of yourself."

Sam fought the urge to roll his eyes. He had a year sober, which would be an achievement if he wasn't in a mental hospital where alcohol was off limits. He doubted whether they were served wine with dinner when coffee was seen as a stimulant.

"I was given medication this morning," Sam said. "What was it?"

The doctor sighed. It seemed this was a conversation they'd had before, too. "You are on a strict regimen of medications for your treatment. One of which is a sedative to control your anxiety, another is an anti-psychotic for your delusions, and another is an anti-depressant."

They made sense to Sam, though he wished they didn't. He understood why he would be depressed and anxious stuck in this place with no contact from any of the people he loved, and if they believed his real life was psychosis, the anti-psychotic made sense too. It was a problem though. He'd never taken anything stronger than a painkiller in his life, par for the course when being constantly thrown around by monsters, but he knew that the drugs she had listed had side-effects, especially when stopped abruptly. His escape was becoming more and more complicated. If he busted out without his meds, he was going to suffer for a while. It was his only option though, he needed to get out of this place and back to Bobby's. Bobby would be able to explain what the hell had happened and how Sam could find Dean again.

Sam looked up, another idea occurring to him. "Have I been committed or am I here voluntarily?"

She shuffled her papers, looking uncomfortable. "When you were admitted you were under a seventy-two hour observation and assessment committal."

"And now?"

The doctor cleared her throat and fixed Sam with a steely glare. "You are here voluntarily now, but if you insist of leaving the facility, I will lobby a judge to serve a commitment order. You are not ready to be out in the world at this time."

Sam sighed. That was that idea nixed. He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "What do I have to do to get out of this place?"

The doctor smiled, seemingly pleased that Sam wasn't going to argue against her threat, as that was what it was. He was in this place 'voluntarily' but if he tried to leave, he would be committed. It was a no win situation.

"Prior to your last episode, you were primed to be released into the community. We even had a residence and employment arranged for you. Now, we need to make sure you are stable."

"And what does that mean?" Sam asked.

"Well, we need to make sure these episodes are really over. We don't want you having another one in the outside world. That could lead to you or someone else being hurt, and we wouldn't want that.

Sam didn't want to hurt anyone either. He was still hugely confused about how he had come to be in this place, but if the doctor was telling the truth, and he had no reason to doubt her, there was something really wrong with him.

"How about we make a provisional plan," the doctor said. "We will adjust your meds accordingly. If you can prove to me these episode are behind you, say a month clear of them, we can readdress the issue of you being discharged."

Sam nodded. That sounded like a workable plan. He had lasted a year in this place, though he didn't remember it, he could last another month. Then he would be discharged with his meds, and he could slowly wean himself off of them, counteracting the withdrawal process. All he had to do was control himself. He didn't know exactly what these episodes entailed, but if he could stay calm and controlled for a month, he would be able to get out of here, and then he would be able to find Dean.

The doctor stood and stepped around the desk to stand in front of Sam. Sam rose to meet her, and shook her extended hand.

"Thanks, Doc."

She smiled. "You're very welcome, Sam." She raised a hand and, in a move so unexpected it made Sam step back, she brushed his hair away from his forehead, letting her fingers linger for a moment. Sam felt an odd wave of dizziness sweep over him, and his knees buckled.

The doctor caught him, and eased him down to the floor. That should have been a clue to Sam, that a small woman was able to take his weight, but he was already asleep before he hit the floor.

He was oblivious to the doctor kneeling down beside him and pressing her fingers to his temple. He didn't hear her words as she closed her eyes and focused her mind.

"Now, Sam, let's see what we can do about those inconvenient memories."

* * *

Dean stumbled into Bobby's kitchen around eight-am. He was grubby and exhausted after a night spent searching for a sign of his wayward brother.

Bobby had been pacing the length of the room, and as Dean entered, he looked up hopefully. "Anything?"

Dean shook his head. "Nothing."

Bobby sighed heavily. "I got a call from Sheriff Mills. She's doing another sweep of the town before turning in."

Dean nodded his thanks for the news. He knew the sheriff had been working all night looking for Sam, and he appreciated it. He and Sam hadn't had anyone on their side — excepting Castiel and Bobby — since Ellen and Jo had died. A lot of the time it didn't seem to matter, but at times like this, with his brother on the line, he was grateful for the Sheriff's assistance.

He crossed the room and sank down onto the chair facing the table. Resting his head in his hands, he exhaled a heaving breath.

Bobby placed a mug of fresh coffee on the table in front of him and then he sat down opposite. "You heard from Cas?"

Dean raised his head. "No, nothing. He can't have found anything; he'd have told us if he had."

Bobby nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, I guess he would."

"He would," Dean said firmly. He knew Sam and Bobby were suspicious of Castiel, but he trusted the angel with his life and, more importantly, Sam's life.

Bobby raised his hands, and Dean knew he was going to expound on his theories of Castiel's strange behavior, so he redirected with the question that had been tormenting him all night. "What do you think happened to him?"

"Sam?" Bobby asked, and Dean nodded. "I don't know. I've been thinking of it all night, and there are just too many damn things."

Dean counted them off on his fingers. "The wall could have come down. It could have been some fugly. It could have been some twisted human; it wouldn't be the first time Sam's got snatched by a psycho. It could have been the angels working to some screwed up mission. Or it could be…"

"Crowley," Bobby finished for him. "I know you don't want to think of it, Dean, but Eve said he was alive. I can't think why she'd lie to us."

"But we saw Cas burn his bones."

"We did," Bobby said. "Something must have gone wrong. He's not any ordinary demon after all—he's the King of Hell—maybe burning the bones doesn't work on him."

Though he could tell Bobby didn't really believe it, Dean seized on the explanation. "Yeah, that has to be it. So Crowley is suspect number one."

Bobby crossed his arms over his chest. "He's _a_ suspect. There are still others. The alphas — you said the alpha vamp was big on making Sam one of his."

"Yeah, but that was when he was soulless. His interest was all about making the perfect killer. Sam would be no good to him now."

"Okay, but that doesn't mean he or one of the other alphas won't want him. You took out enough of their children when you were working for Crowley, not to mention the ones over years on the job; they might want payback."

Dean sighed and raked a hand over his face. "Okay, so that's alphas or Crowley. This list is looking longer than I wanted it to be."

"And there are angels and humans to think of."

"I can't see the angels having anything to do with it. Sam's got nothing they want since Lucifer got locked up again."

"Maybe he got out."

Dean shook his head. "Cas said if Lucifer was free we would know about it."

"So that leaves us with humans and Crowley."

"My money's on Crowley," Dean said. "Taking Sam would appeal to his more irritating personality traits, and it would keep us nice and distracted from stopping him hunting down Purgatory."

Bobby nodded. "Then we need to have a chat with Crowley."

"You remember that summoning ritual?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, we'll have to make a run for supplies, but I know what we need."

Dean got his feet and grabbed the Impala keys from the counter. "Let's get gone then. Every minute Crowley has Sam is a minute too long.

* * *

**Thanks as always to everyone that is reading, reviewing, and adding me to your follows/favorites. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks go to Gredelia1 for pre-reading and to Snarkymuch2 for giving me the plot bunny. This story is un-beta'd so any mistakes that remain are my own.**

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Sam's head felt sluggish as awareness returned to him. His eyes opened to half-mast and bright light invaded his mind. He looked around and recognized his room. He was lying down on the cot, and he wondered whether he was in the restraints again. Reluctantly, he lifted his arms and was relieved to see that there was no resistance to the movement other than his own slow responses. They hadn't strapped him down at least.

He wondered what had happened and how he had come to be in his room again. The last thing he remembered was being in the doctor's office, discussing his latest episode. Frustration clawed at him. He'd had another episode and all his plans for release were surely set back weeks if not months again. He had tried so hard to be normal, he'd stopped talking about the monsters and his brother, but his damned mind had to screw it all up and plunge him into another delusion. It wasn't fair.

He remembered the doctor's questions, and he remembered the answers he had given in the throes of his delusion. He had told her he was Sam Winchester, but that was the name of his delusion.

Sam Winchester the mighty hunter, son of John and brother of Dean. The truth was that he hadn't had a brother since he was six months old, and his father had been a broken-down, old drunk that had dragged him across the country as a child. His delusion would be laughable if it was someone else. How arrogant did you have to be to believe you were the man that saved the world, that overpowered the Devil within your own mind to throw yourself into Hell? Who would willingly do that?

He pushed himself to a sitting position and swung his legs around so he was seated on the edge of the bed. His head swam at the sudden change, and he allowed himself a moment to gather his bearings before he tried to move again. When his head was clear, he stood and crossed the room to the bathroom.

He examined his reflection in the mirror above the basin. He looked tired and a little shell-shocked, understandable given what had happened. He splashed some cold water on his face and dried himself off on a towel.

Feeling great trepidation, he went back into his room and tried the door. He was correct in thinking that he was locked in again. It was another of his privileges gone. They hadn't felt the need to lock him in for weeks before this.

He pressed the intercom button beside the door and waited for someone to answer.

"Yes, Sam," came a familiar voice.

"Can I come out?" he asked hopefully.

"Be right there."

Sam stepped back from the door, and a moment later, it swung open to reveal Alex standing on the threshold. Alex was one of his favorite nurses. She was a little younger than Sam and exceptionally pretty. It wasn't her looks that endeared her to Sam though, it was the fact that she genuinely cared about the people in the hospital and she loved her job.

"How're you doing?" she asked.

"I'm confused," he admitted. "What happened?"

"You collapsed in the doctor's office. You had…" She shifted uncomfortably.

"Another episode," Sam supplied. "Yeah, I remember."

She looked at him sympathetically. "Don't let it get you down, Sam. Setbacks are to be expected. It's not weakness."

Sam tried to take comfort in what she was saying, but it didn't work. He was disappointed in himself. If he had held it together a little longer, he would have been out of this place. After a year of hospitalization, he was ready for the real world again, and because of this latest episode, he was damned to stay in here. He had worked so hard to get himself to the point that he would be ready for release, and now it seemed all his hard work was in vain.

"You've been out a while," Alex said. "You missed lunch. Shall we see if Marcy has something set aside for you? You've got therapy in an hour."

Sam nodded and followed her out into the hall.

They passed Doug by the nurses' station and he turned and smiled at Sam. "You're looking better. You feeling okay?"

Sam grimaced. "Pleasantly sane again."

Doug shot him a sympathetic look. "Yeah, you were pretty confused this morning. Didn't even recognize me."

Sam looked apologetic. "Sorry about that." He wondered how much a fool he had made of himself during his latest episode. No one ever really told him what he was like during them, only that he seemed to believe what he privately called the Winchester story.

"No worries. You're back to normal now, right?"

Sam rubbed at the back of his neck. "Yeah, I think so."

"Okay, boys, that's enough chatter," Alex said with a smile. "We've got to get Sam fed before therapy."

Sam trailed after her down the hall and through the day room in to the cafeteria. It was empty except for Marcy who was working to clear the tray station of dirty crockery.

"Hey, Marcy," Alex said. "Sam here missed lunch. Have you got anything we can give him?"

Marcy eyed Sam speculatively. "You back to normal yet?"

Sam grinned. "I'm about as sane as you are, Marcy."

Her stern face broke into a smile. "That's great. You're not yourself when you're like that. I don't like it."

Sam shrugged. He couldn't help what he was like when the episodes struck. He was fond of Marcy. It had taken him months to break through her taciturn personality and worm his way into her heart. Now she was one of his favorite people in the center and he was one of the few patients she would crack a smile for. She confided in him one that he scared her when he was having an episode. Not only did he strike out violently when they were trying to take care of him, but he radiated menace. He was a different person, a hunter.

"I saved you a sandwich."

Sam took the sandwich from the counter and sat down at a table. Alex sat opposite him and rested her chin in her hand.

"You okay, Sam?"

"Sure, I'm great," he lied.

"It's okay not to be fine sometimes," she said. "You're allowed to show weakness."

Sam huffed out a breath. Alex was unusually intuitive, and that made it hard to keep up the pretense of being fine in front of her.

"I'm frustrated," he admitted. "I thought I was past these episodes, I thought the meds were controlling them."

"It's just a blip, Sam. You've done well to get to this point; don't let it get you down now."

Sam nodded and picked up his sandwich. He took a bite and looked around the room as he chewed. Usually, when Sam was in here, it was at least half-full. In his year in the hospital, he had seen a lot of people come and go. Sometimes he was jealous of the way they all seemed to progress in leaps and bounds compared to him, but other times he was merely glad to see the back of them. There had been some real troublesome patients before.

When his sandwich was done, Sam pushed away his plate and sat back in his chair.

Alex smiled. "You ready for therapy?"

Sam looked up at the clock on the wall. He was surprised that almost an hour had passed since he'd woken up. Time seemed to move strangely in this place. When there was nothing interesting to do, it dragged, but when he was entertained for once, spending time with Alex for instance, it leapt past. He was ready for therapy though. He wanted to know just how much this latest episode had set him back in his plans to get out.

They walked out of the room together, waving to Marcy, and out onto the hall. The therapy rooms were located past the ward and they had to pass through many secure doors to get there. In the beginning, when Sam had been in the throes off his delusion, he had hated the security of the place. It had thrown a wrench into all his plans of escape, but as he slowly came back to himself and recognized his delusions for what they were, he realized the importance of the measures they took to keep him safe. When he was under the grips of his delusion, he wasn't safe to be around. He'd once attacked another patient, believing them to be possessed by a demon. He remembered spouting nonsense at the man, thinking he was using a Latin incantation to exorcise it.

"Here you go, Sam. Take a seat," Alex said, leading him into a small room with two cushioned chairs in the center. "Doctor Windsor will be with you in a moment."

Sam folded himself into a chair and tapped his fingers against his knees as he waited for his assigned therapist to arrive.

A man entered, wearing a tweed suit with leather elbow patches and horn-rimmed spectacles. "Sam, good to see you again," he said, holding out a hand to Sam.

Sam shook his hand. "Hey, Doc."

Despite his appearance as an old school librarian, Doctor Windsor was a good guy and a great shrink. He never patronized or pretended to understand how Sam felt. He sympathized and advised as best he could.

"I understand you have had a difficult time," Doctor Windsor said.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, another episode."

The doctor surveyed Sam over his spectacles and concern creased his brow. "How are you feeling now?"

"I'm annoyed," Sam said, knowing he needed to be honest for these sessions to have any positive result. "I was so close to getting out of here, and now it's all turned to crap."

"Not necessarily," the doctor said. "It's down to Doctor Angelus of course, but I don't think your release will be delayed too much. As I am told, this latest episode wasn't as long as the others, and you were able to bring yourself out of it. I believe if it happens again in the outside world, you will be able to control yourself, and more importantly, you will be able to recognize the signs and will reach out for help before it can get too advanced."

Sam took heart from that. It may be down to Doctor Angelus to decide when he would be getting out but Doctor Windsor had a lot of influence, too.

"Now, in light of your recent episode, I would like to go through your two histories and to ensure you are all the way back, as it were."

Sam should have expected this. It was standard procedure after one of his episodes, but he hated it. He didn't like having to recite the lows of his life, and they were always the parts the doctor was interested in.

"What do you want to know?"

The doctor pushed his spectacles up his nose and sat forward in his chair. "Tell me about your father."

Sam rubbed a hand over his face. "His name was John. After my mother and brother died, he took me on the road. We travelled from state to state with him taking short work where he could find it and moving on when he got bored of a town."

"How was your relationship with him?"

This was all material they'd been over a dozen times before, but it still caused Sam a pang of regret to be talking about it again. "We didn't always get along. I hated being dragged all over the country, never finishing a year in the same school, and I didn't hide my feelings. Things came to a head when I left for college. He told me if I was leaving, that I wasn't to come back."

"But you did come back."

"He came for me," Sam said, his mind moving back through the years to the night he found his father at his apartment door in the middle of the night. "He'd got into trouble with some cardsharps and he needed me to help him get out of it. He needed money."

"What happened, Sam?"

"I gave him the money out of my scholarship, but I wanted to make sure he paid it off instead of using it to gamble more. I insisted on going with him to the cardsharps' place. It took a couple of days driving to get there and back, and when I got back…" Sam trailed off as memories of that night assaulted him.

"Sam, are you okay?"

Tears streaming down his face, Sam nodded. "The fire trucks were already there when we pulled up. They said it was faulty wiring in the old building. Jess would have been asleep. She…" He cleared his throat. "She was probably killed by smoke inhalation."

That was the one comfort he could take in the nightmare of a situation. Jess was likely dead and unable to feel a thing as the flames reached her, but there was no guarantee. She could have felt it all.

The doctor handed him a tissue and Sam wiped his streaming eyes. He sniffed loudly and looked at the doctor, embarrassed.

"So that was that. Jess died and I left Stanford. I hooked up with my father again and we lived on the road together."

The doctor scribbled something down on a legal pad and looked sympathetically at Sam.

"Well, you don't seem to be having any residual difficulties following your episode. Your story was the correct turn of events rather than the fabricated history."

Sam was pleased. He wanted the last episode over and done with so he could move on. As painful as it had been to recite his memories of Jessica's death, it had been necessary to make sure he was himself again. It was not the first time he had been forced to revisit these memories, and he doubted it would be the last. Therapy was all about facing those memories.

"Do you feel up to talking some more?" Doctor Windsor asked.

Sam nodded. "What do you want to talk about?"

Doctor Windsor flipped a page of his pad over and tapped his pen against the page. "How did these latest episode affect your feelings about your brother?"

Sam raked a hand through his hair and sat back in his chair. "I miss him more now."

Sam knew that he could have no memory of the brother he had lost, that he had been a baby when it happened, but he missed the brother of his delusion. The created history included an amazing brother that meant the world to Sam. He was someone that Sam would die for. They shared a bond Sam had never had with anyone in his real life. That was the hardest part of coming down from an episode. He grieved the loss of a brother he had never truly known. If not for the monsters and the fact he knew it was wrong, Sam would be happy to remain lost in his delusion, as at least there, he wasn't alone in the world.

"That's understandable," the doctor said. "You are essentially suffering a bereavement after each episode. Your mind created the perfect person for you, a brother, to lock you in the delusion. It doesn't want you to get well. The thing you have to do is accept that Dean is gone, feel the loss, then move on. It's the only way for you to ever move on."

Sam nodded energetically. "I know that." The problem was that he didn't always want to move on. He didn't want to say goodbye to his brother, despite the fact he knew their parting had happened many years ago.

"I sense some conflict."

Sam sighed. "I don't always want to say goodbye. I want to get out of this place, no offence, Doc, but at the same time, the delusion isn't all bad."

"You enjoy having someone that cares about you?" Doctor Windsor questioned.

"Yeah, I don't like feeling alone in the world."

"You're not alone, Sam, not really. You will forge new relationships, healthy relationships, and your life will start anew. It's just a matter of letting go of the past. You understand?"

"I do," Sam said. "And I'm trying."

"That's good. Now, I think we are done here."

Sam got to his feet and held out a hand to shake. "Thanks, Doc."

"You're most welcome, Sam. You enjoy the rest of your day, and I will see about talking to Doctor Angelus regarding your release."

Sam smiled. His release had been a long time coming, and hopefully, he would be free soon. He wanted to return to a simple, normal life. A life without monsters and demons and battles to save the world. That was what he wanted more than anything, so why did it feel like a betrayal to his dead brother to have it?

* * *

Dean filled in the last of the devil's trap in with a can of spray paint and straightened, wincing as his back popped. He and Bobby had spent the last hour preparing to summon Crowley. Dean had painted in the devil's trap while Bobby went into town to get the herbs needed for the ritual.

Bobby set down the last candle and pulled a box of matches from his pocket. "You ready to do this?"

Dean stepped away from the devil's trap and nodded. "Yeah, let's call that limey bastard up and see what he's got to say for himself."

Bobby lit the candles and then tossed the burning match into the bowl of herbs. Flames leapt up and Bobby stepped back. The lights flickered and then there was a dark chuckle. Crowley stood in the doorway between the kitchen and study. As Bobby and Dean caught sight of him, he raised his arms and grinned. "Surprise!"

As much as Dean wanted to find his brother, he hadn't wanted Eve to be right about Crowley being alive. To believe it would be to cast doubt over Castiel, and there was little Dean wanted to do less. But Crowley was alive, well, and looking exceptionally pleased with himself.

"So, to what to I owe the summoning," he asked, stepping carefully around the devil's trap and approaching the desk. He took a glass from the side table and filled it with amber liquid from a hipflask.

Dean folded his arms over his chest. "Where's Sam."

Crowley shrugged. "Out shopping at Old Navy?"

"He's missing," Bobby said stiffly, "and we think you might know something about that."

Crowley sipped at his drink. "Afraid not. I haven't seen Gigantor for weeks."

"Yeah? So where is he?" Dean asked.

"How should I know?"

Dean stepped forward, his hands fisted at his sides. "Where is he?"

"Am I talking French? I don't know," Crowley said slowly. "Wherever the moose has gone, it's nothing to do with me. How do you know he hasn't wandered off on his own?"

"He wouldn't do that," Bobby said.

Crowley raised his hands. "Then I'm afraid I'm all out of ideas. I could ask my demons to keep an eye out for him, but that would involve me giving a crap, which I don't. I'm afraid you're on your own."

"Hold up!" Bobby said quickly. "Before you go crawling back under your rock, how's about you explain how you got away if Cas burned your bones."

Crowley looked thoughtful for a moment. "I would have thought it was obvious; Cas burned the wrong bones."

"What about the little light show?" Bobby asked.

Crowley grinned. "Nice, wasn't it? That was a little touch added by yours truly. Couldn't have you boys hunting me down while I've got so much else to be doing. I took a chance, and it paid off. You've been busy chasing your asses, leaving me free to do what I like. It's been a good time. I don't reckon it'll be changing any time soon, either. If Winchester – Jumbo Size has been snatched, you're going to be busy boys." He flicked back his sleeve and looked at his watch. "Time for me to head out. I've got a lot on my plate as you boys know. Hell to raise. Purgatory to find. I'd wish you luck but that would make it look like I cared."

Dean stepped forward, fist raised to land a punch on the demon, but Crowley was already gone. He turned back to Bobby. "What do you think?"

Bobby rubbed a hand at the back of his neck. "I don't know. He could be telling the truth, but that would mean breaking the habit of a lifetime."

"You think he's got Sam?"

"I doubt it, but I'd bet the farm on him knowing more than he's letting on."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking too." Dean cracked his knuckles. "We need to ask around a little."

Bobby looked uncomfortable. "It's going to take more than some gentle questioning to find Sam, Dean."

Dean nodded somberly. "I know it."

He was going to have to break out some of his skills as an inquisitor if he was going to get any useful information out of anyone, be it demon or monster. He didn't want to torture again, but if that was what it took to find Sam, that was what he would do.

* * *

**Raise your hands if you're confused. You're supposed to be. It will (hopefully) make sense as the story develops. If you have any questions, feel free to drop me a PM. **

**As always, thanks to all of you that are reading and reviewing. I really appreciate it. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks go to Gredelia1 for pre-reading and to Snarkymuch2 for giving me the plot bunny. This story is un-beta'd so any mistakes that remain are my own.**

* * *

**Chapter Six**

Sam was woken by a knock at the door and a loud voice calling out, "Rise and shine, Sam. It's the big day."

He rolled over, groaning, until the meaning of the words sunk in and he sat bolt upright. It wasa big day, _the_ big day; today he was going out of the hospital grounds for the first time in a year.

A month had passed since his last episode, and the doctors had agreed that he was finally ready for release. Doctor Angelus would be taking him to look at an apartment and to meet the owner of the motel she had lined him up to work in.

He threw back the bedcovers and climbed out of bed. Raking a hand through his hair, he padded into the bathroom. He set the water running and examined himself in the mirror. His eyes were bright with excitement and his cheeks flushed. He looked better than he had in months, and the sight made him happy.

He stripped off his clothes and stepped under the shower. Grabbing the washcloth from the shelf, he set about cleaning up, humming to himself the whole time. He was in an exceptionally good mood, which was only in part due to the meds. He was facing freedom, and it had done a lot to lift his spirits.

When he was done with the shower, he stood in front of the mirror and shaved using the much-deplored electric razor. He comforted himself with the thought that, after today, he would be able to return to a wet shave. There were so many things he was looking forward to about being in the outside world again; shaving the way he liked was just one of them.

When he was done in the bathroom, he went back into the bedroom and reached under the bed for the duffel that had been brought to him the day before. Inside were a few outfits of civilian clothes for him to choose from. Alex had brought them for him from a thrift store, and though they weren't new, he doubted he had ever been so pleased to have clothes. In the hospital, he always wore the standard patient outfit of scrubs and tennis shoes. Now he had a choice of jeans and shirts to pick from, not to mention a pair of sturdy walking boots.

He pulled on a pair of jeans and a shirt and then sat on the edge of the bed to tie his bootlaces. It felt good to be in proper clothes again, as if he was a different man. He wouldn't mention any of that to the doctors; it would raise alarm bells for them despite the innocence of the sentiment. He was Sam Wesson again. Sam Winchester had been relegated to the back of his mind as the delusion it was. He vowed not to get lost again.

There was a knock at the door, and Sam looked up to see it swing open at his call. Doug walked in, smiling brightly.

"Well, look at you," he said brightly. "Feeling good?"

Sam nodded. "Damn good."

Doug gestured Sam out ahead of him, and they walked down the halls through the day room and into the cafeteria together, chatting about mundane things. Doug seemed to sense that Sam wasn't good for deep and meaningful conversation today. He had more important things on his mind.

Marcy was waiting at the counter, ladle in hand, but when she saw Sam enter, she came out onto the main room and opened her arms wide.

"Look at you," she said loudly, drawing eyes of the few patients that were already in the room eating their breakfast. "You look like a different man."

Sam looked down at the floor, feeling embarrassment heating his cheeks. "Thanks, Marcy."

She stepped up to him and wrapped her arms around him. "It's good to see you looking so well, Sam." She sniffed. "Damn good."

Sam patted her back. When she released him and stepped back, Sam was embarrassed to see that her eyes were wet. He knew it was a big day for him but he hadn't thought about how it affected others around him. He had been in the center a long time and he'd made some lasting friendships here. If it were not for the fact he was moving to a much better place, he would be sad to see them go.

"So," Marcy said, wiping her eyes, "breakfast. What'll it be?"

Sam grimaced. He was so on edge he didn't think his stomach would be able to tolerate Marcy's cooking.

"Just toast and fruit," he said.

She clucked her tongue disapprovingly as she moved along the counter and filled a tray for him. "Here, get this down and you'll be ready for the real world."

Sam smiled and nodded to the other patients as he made his way over to an empty table. He wanted solitude of his thoughts this morning to keep him from getting overwhelmed. He felt like he was walking a tightrope. He was so close to getting out, but if he veered in one direction or the other—by letting himself get overwhelmed—he wouldn't be leaving the hospital.

He ate his breakfast and downed the small carton of milk quickly, eager to get the necessary motions through with so he could get onto the important business of the day. He took his tray back to the counter and waved to a watery-eyed Marcy. He collected his meds and then made his way back to his bedroom to wait for it to be time.

He didn't have to wait long. After only a few minutes, there was a knock at the door and Doctor Angelus peered in.

"You ready to go, Sam?" she asked.

Sam lurched to his feet and crossed the room in three strides. "Yeah."

She smiled indulgently at him. "In that case, let's go."

Sam followed her out of the room and into the halls. She led him past the office complex and through a door he had no memory of going through before. It led to a small reception area with a young woman sitting behind a desk. There was a glass door leading out onto a parking lot and beyond that… the world—at least that's how it seemed to Sam.

Doctor Angelus greeted the woman at the desk and there was a buzzing sound as the lock on the door was disengaged. Doctor Angelus swung it open and waved a hand for Sam to go out ahead of her. He took a deep breath, girding himself, and stepped outside.

He had been out in the grounds before, but only for brief periods when weather permitted and accompanied by staff. It was a different feeling then to how it felt now walking out into the fresh spring air. He had to fight the urge to wrap his arms around himself for comfort. That wouldn't go down well with the doctor. Instead, he fisted his hands in his pockets and smiled as if he was enjoying the bright sunlit day.

"The apartment complex is just a few blocks down," Doctor Angelus said. "I was thinking we could walk if you don't mind?"

Sam nodded vigorously. "I don't mind walking." It was stopping that would be the problem. Now he had a taste of freedom, he would struggle to come back again.

* * *

"This is your lounge, and through there is the bedroom," the scruffy looking man said. "As you can see, it's not much, but the rent is low and we're a quiet neighborhood."

"It's perfect," Sam said. It was small and sparsely furnished, but it was exactly what he needed. There was a wide window looking out onto the street, which made the room seem larger than it was and the pale walls and carpet were clean and devoid of musty smells unlike the motels he had spent his life in. He had to resist the urge to throw himself down on the couch and refuse to move—that wouldn't make a good impression with his new landlord.

"You want to see the rest of the place?" the man asked.

Sam nodded and followed the man into the bedroom. There was a small closet off to the right and in the center of the room was a king-sized bed and a small cabinet with a lamp on it. They left the bedroom and went into the kitchen. Like the rest of the apartment, it was small, but it had all the necessary appliances.

"So you want it?" the man asked.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, definitely."

The man brandished a clipboard and pen at Sam, and he took them and filled out all the necessary information. Signing his name with flourish, he handed the clipboard back to his new landlord and smiled.

Doctor Angelus had been standing by the door as Sam was shown around the apartment, but she stepped forward now, opening her purse and taking out a checkbook.

"I need first, last, and a security deposit," the man said.

Doctor Angelus nodded distractedly, ripped out the check and handed it to the landlord. "That should cover it."

This had been explained to Sam, though it still embarrassed him to have someone else paying his way. There was a fund set up for people coming out of long-term hospitalization to cover initial living expenses and rent. It meant Sam would be able to use his first month's wages to buy necessary items for his first days out of the hospital. He was determined to pay back every cent that had been used to set him up in his new home.

"Are you ready to go, Sam?" Doctor Angelus asked, pulling Sam from his thoughts.

"Yeah."

Their next stop was at the motel Doctor Angelus had arranged a job for Sam with. He was going to be a general handyman, doing repairs and such.

Doctor Angelus thanked Sam's new landlord and Sam shook his hand, thanking him vociferously for the apartment.

The landlord smiled, and then clapped a hand to his forehead. "I almost forgot, you're going to need this." He rooted in his pocket and pulled out a key and held it out to Sam.

As Sam's fingers closed around the key, he felt a swooping sensation in his stomach. This was the key not only to his new apartment but to his new life, too.

* * *

Sam was filled with a combination of disappointment and relief when he stepped back through the doors of the Lincoln Center. He was glad to be back, as it was his safe place, where he knew what was expected of him, but at the same time, he was disappointed to be back when he had enjoyed a few hours of freedom.

"It's only for tonight," Doctor Angelus said, as if she could read his mind. "Tomorrow, you will be saying goodbye to us for good."

Sam scrubbed a hand across his face. "Is it weird that I'm nervous about that?"

"Not at all. It's perfectly natural for you to feel trepidation at the thought of leaving us after so long here. Even people that have been here for a matter of weeks feel the same way. Would you like to talk about this with Doctor Windsor?"

"Yeah, I think that would be good."

Sam would have liked to speak with Doctor Angelus about it, but he had already taken up enough of her time for one day. Sam knew she was a busy woman. She was the senior psychiatrist at the center, and her job was largely administrative. As far as Sam knew, he was the only patient that was under her direct care.

Doctor Angelus led Sam down the halls to the office suites and she knocked on Doctor Windsor's door. After a few minutes whispered conversation, she came out held the door open for Sam and waved him inside. As Sam passed her, she patted him on the arm, and Sam felt a wave of comfort.

He sank down onto the chair facing Doctor Windsor and clasped his hands in his lap.

"So, Sam, Doctor Angelus said it might be a good idea for you and me to talk?" Doctor Windsor said

Sam was feeling uncomfortable. He was leery of saying too much as, if they thought he wasn't ready for the release, they wouldn't authorize his exit the next day.

"You can talk to me, Sam, you know that."

Sam took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "I'm… cautious"—he chose the word carefully—"about leaving tomorrow."

"What exactly is it that you are worried about?"

"What if I'm not ready?" Sam hadn't meant to say it, he had been careful with his words, but the admission slipped from him.

The doctor leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. "That is a valid concern, but I do not think you need to worry. It's natural to have some trepidation after an admission as long as yours, but trust me, Sam, we wouldn't be letting you leave if we weren't certain you were ready."

Sam nodded. "I get that, but what if something happens? What if I have another episode?"

The doctor smiled ruefully. "If you have another episode, you will manage it. You will be in for regular sessions with me, and Doctor Angelus will continue to monitor you and your treatment plan. You're not alone, Sam."

Sam tried to take comfort in his words but it was hard. He knew his anxiety was to be expected, he was in a hell of a tangle emotionally at the moment, but he just wished it would pass already. He had been waiting for his discharge for so long, even when he believed he was Sam Winchester he had been looking for an out, though in that case it had been an escape plan, that not it was upon him, he was scared.

"Let's talk through your next step," Doctor Windsor said. "I understand you have arrangements for employment in place, tell me about that."

Sam smiled. "I'm going to be a maintenance man at a local motel—The Falls Inn. I met the owner today, he seemed a nice guy, and he was cool about my situation."

That had surprised but relieved Sam. He had been expecting a few leery looks from his new boss. He'd gone out on a limb hiring a guy from the mental hospital, but he'd been good to Sam. Sam guessed the man had a story of his own.

Doctor Windsor sat forward in his chair and locked eyes with Sam. "Believe me, Sam, you're ready for this. You are going to go out into the world and carve a path for yourself. It might not be the path you once wanted, but it will be better than what you have been before."

Sam nodded gratefully, taking comfort in the doctor's words. He may not feel ready to leave, but he guessed he never would. He was ready to start a new life through, and as the doctor said, it would be better than the one he was leaving behind.

He was leaving Sam Winchester behind in the hospital and going out into the world as Sam Wesson.

* * *

**Sorry about the lack of Dean in this chapter, but I thought Sam's events stood alone. Bobby and Dean will be back in the next chapter and we will get a glimpse of Sam's life on the outside. **

**Thanks for the reviews, faves and follows. Every email I get makes me smile. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Thanks go to Gredelia1 for pre-reading and to Snarkymuch2 for giving me the plot bunny. This story is un-beta'd so any mistakes that remain are my own. **

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

Bobby opened the door to the panic room and stepped inside. Castiel was standing at the back of the room, watching Dean working over the demon. It was one of dozens of demons and monsters they had interrogated in their search for Sam, but Dean was losing none of his determination.

"I'm going to ask you again," Dean said, tossing Ruby's knife from hand to hand. "Where's my brother?"

"Go to hell," the demon spat.

Dean snapped forward and plunged the blade into the demon's leg. Energy crackled around the wound and the demon howled with pain. "Try again," Dean snarled.

"I don't know," the demon wailed. "I swear I don't. Now take it out, please."

Dean didn't pull the blade out. Instead, he slowly twisted it in the demon's leg, causing new howls of agony.

"Where is my brother?" Dean asked, enunciating each word carefully.

"I don't know!"

Castiel stepped forward. "I don't believe he knows, Dean."

Dean sighed and wiped a hand across his brow. "I think you're right, Cas. Pity. He just lost his value as a witness." He pulled the blade from the demon's leg and stepped back.

The demon's eyes followed the knife as Dean twirled it in his hand. "What are you going to do to me? Exorcise me?" He sounded hopeful.

Dean shook his head slowly. "Nah. Can't have you running back to Crowley telling him what we're doing."

The demon shook his head jerkily. "I won't tell him anything. I promise."

Dean turned back to look at Bobby. "You hear that, Bobby? He promises."

Bobby crossed his arms over his chest. "I hear it."

Dean tapped the hilt of the blade against his palm. "See, I don't know if I believe you. I think the first thing you'll do when you get back to the pit is track down your boss and tell him everything you know."

The demon's eyes widened. "I won't!"

Dean shook his head ruefully. "I can't take that chance." With a practiced move, he whipped the knife across the demon's throat. Blood spurted from the wound and ran down the demon's shirt. As the demon took one last gurgling breath, Dean cut through the ropes holding the demon in place and turned to Castiel. "Cas, can you take care of this for me?"

Castiel hefted the corpse into his arms. With a rustling sound, he disappeared, and Bobby and Dean were left alone. Dean wiped the bloody knife on a rag with an air of a man not noticing what he was doing. He probably wasn't; this was all routine now.

Bobby cleared his throat and Dean looked up. "What?"

"Did you get anything out of him before you gave him a close shave?"

Dean shook his head. "Only that Crowley is still busy hunting down Purgatory. The demon was just a foot soldier."

Bobby cursed under his breath. "This is getting us nowhere."

Dean's features darkened. "You got any better ideas for finding Sam?"

"You know I don't."

"Then we keep going as we are. Someone has to know what's happened to him; we just need to find the right demon or monster to question."

Bobby raised his hands in front of him. "I'm not arguing."

"Good. Because whatever we're doing to these demons is nothing compared to what is probably happening to Sam."

That was Bobby's fear too. They had no idea who or what had taken Sam, so they didn't know what was happening to him. The thought that Sam was suffering worse that the demons and monsters Dean interrogated made bile rise to the back of Bobby's throat.

He took a bottle of whiskey and poured the dregs of the bottle into a glass for Dean. It was just past noon, and though this would be his first drink of the day, it wouldn't be his last. Bobby knew they were both drinking too much, but given the shitty situation they were both living in, he figured they were entitled to a drink.

Dean took the glass and knocked it back in one. "You got anymore of this?"

"No, that was the last bottle. I'll make a run out for some more."

Dean nodded. "Best get some beers while you're there."

"And some food," Bobby said pointedly. He was drinking as much as Dean, but he wasn't forgetting to eat the way Dean was. His devotion to the hunt for Sam made him sometimes forget he was human and had needs too. Bobby had pointed out many times that it was no good finding Sam if he was too weak from malnutrition to do anything about it.

Dean nodded vaguely. "Yeah, that too."

Sighing, Bobby left the room and made his way back to the main house. He grabbed his keys and wallet from the table and went out to the car. His Chevelle was parked beside the Impala at the front of the house. After driving home the first day Sam was missing, Dean locked up the car and he hadn't been back inside it since, choosing to borrow Bobby's car when he needed to go somewhere. Bobby hadn't asked him about it, but he guessed Dean felt wrong driving around without Sam beside him.

He steered the car through the stacks of junkers and onto the main road into town. His thoughts drifted, as they often did, to Sam and what could be happening to him. He still wasn't convinced Crowley didn't have him. It would definitely be a good way to keep them from trying to stop him cracking open Purgatory. And there were the other monsters to consider. The boys had already been targeted once by djinns once because they'd taken out the father. There were a hundred other monsters that might want revenge on them for their fallen.

The one consolation Bobby had was that Sam was strong; he would get through whatever was thrown at him as he had survived worse before. You didn't come through Hell with your mind intact by being weak.

Encouraging thoughts of Sam sustained him into town. Soon he was pulling the car to a stop in the Sunshine Foods parking lot. He cut the engine and climbed out, nodding hello to an acquaintance as he did.

The air-conditioning was on in the store, and it was good to feel the cool blast after the heat of the car. Summer had come fast to South Dakota, another reminder of just how long Sam had been gone. It had been May when he was taken, now they were approaching Independence Day. The boys usually made it to Bobby's place for the holiday, and they made an event of it. It was sad to think that this year their celebrations would be cancelled.

He made his way along the aisles, paying little attention to what he was putting into his cart. As long as he had the beer and whiskey, Dean wouldn't complain.

He was just turning the corner into the last aisle when he saw something that made his heart leap in his chest. It wasn't the first time it had happened, he'd seen Sam a dozen times in the weeks that he had been gone—An unusually tall man on Main Street. A snatch of his voice as he passed a diner—but this time was different. This time he was sure he was actually looking at Sam.

He stopped dead in his tracks and looked down the aisle at the man he believed to be his surrogate son. He was standing with his back to Bobby, examining something in his hands. The clothes he was wearing were unfamiliar, but the way they stretched across the broad shoulders was not.

"Sam?" He wasn't aware he was speaking until the man turned.

Bobby shook his head wordlessly as he took in the familiar features. It _was _Sam.

He looked a little like a deer caught in headlights as he caught sight of Bobby, but he quickly schooled his features into a welcoming smile. "Bobby." He stepped forward with a hand outstretched.

Bobby stared at him as if not sure he believed what he was seeing. His hunter's eye didn't miss the fact Sam's hand was shaking slightly. Understandable given the situation. Dean, Castiel and Bobby had been moving heaven and earth to find him while Sam was alive, well, and apparently shopping for groceries.

Bobby looked at the outstretched hand and he swallowed thickly. He wanted more than a handshake. He wanted to embrace Sam, to shake him and scold him for cursing him to weeks of worry, but he sensed that if he tried either of those things Sam would bolt and he would be left with no answers. Only half-aware of what he was doing, he shook Sam's hand and patted his arm. "Damn, boy, it's good to see you," he breathed.

Sam grinned. "You too. I forgot you lived up this way."

Despite what many in the town might think of him, Bobby wasn't a fool, and the drink hadn't dulled his wits at all. He knew immediately that there was something very wrong with this scene, and he had his suspicions of what had happened, and he realized how carefully he had to tread.

"It's been a while," Bobby said carefully.

"Yeah, must be, what, five years, six?"

Bobby's mind reeled but his expression remained fixed in a smile. "Must be. So what have you been doing?"

Sam rubbed at the back of his neck uncomfortably. "That's a long story."

"You want to go get a beer?" Bobby asked, eager to detain Sam long enough for him to get hold of Dean. "We can catch up."

Sam looked embarrassed. "I can't."

He didn't offer up any other explanation and Bobby didn't push for more. He was torn. He wanted to question Sam, to find out where the hell he'd been and why he didn't seem to know Bobby as he should, but if his suspicions were confirmed, he would be risking further damage to Sam's mind.

Sam checked his watch and sighed. "I've got to get going. I'm going to be late for work."

Unless Sam had taken to hunting in shifts, the word work didn't make any sense to Bobby, not that anything else did either. Sam was acting as if they were old buddies that had fallen out of touch over the years not like father and son as they had been for years. He felt like he should be questioning Sam about where he'd been and what had happened to him—that's what Dean would want him to do—but Bobby was leery of triggering something in Sam.

"Okay," Bobby said slowly. "You free to meet up tonight?"

Sam shook his head. "I'm working till eight, and then I'll be pretty bushed. But I'd like to meet up sometime."

Bobby didn't want to leave it with such a vague arrangement for another meeting, but there was nothing he could do. He couldn't wrangle Sam into the car and drive him back to the house; even if Sam couldn't overpower him with his hands tied behind his back, he would risk further damage to Sam if he did.

"You remember where I live?"

"Out on Rattigan Road, right?"

Bobby nodded. "Here," he took a tattered business card out of his wallet, "give me a call."

Sam took the proffered card. "I will. Thanks, Bobby. It's good to see a familiar face again. It's been a while."

He shook Bobby's hand once more, and then turned his cart and headed to the cashier. Bobby watched him go, stunned into inertia. He had found Sam, but something big and undoubtedly bad had happened to him. How was he supposed to tell Dean?

That question triggered him into action. He couldn't go back to the house to tell Dean he'd found Sam only to have no idea where he was now. He left his cart in the middle of the aisle and headed for the exit. He was there just in time to see Sam turn a corner with his arms laden with groceries. Bobby jogged to the end of the road, and peered around the corner, wary of being seen by Sam. Luck was on Bobby's side, Sam's hunter instincts seemed to be having an off day, as he didn't notice he was being followed. Bobby followed him down one road and another until they came to a low rent apartment complex. Bobby stood on the corner and watched as Sam let himself into one of the apartments. He made a mental note of the apartment number and then turned and trudged back to the car.

When he got to the car, he climbed in and rested his head on the steering wheel. His mind was awash with questions to which he had no answers. The most prominent of which was how he was supposed to tell Dean what had just happened.

* * *

**Sorry about the short chapter, but it seemed the right place to stop. Thanks as always for the reviews, faves and follows. I want to hug you all. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks go to Gredelia1 for pre-reading and to Snarkymuch2 for giving me the plot bunny. This story is un-beta'd so any mistakes that remain are my own. **

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

Dean sat at the kitchen table with his head in his hands. The house was quiet. Bobby was at the store and Castiel wasn't back from disposing of the demon's corpse yet. These moments were the hardest. When he was busy interrogating demons or monsters, his mind was occupied sufficiently that he didn't dwell on his situation. It wasn't that he stopped thinking of Sam, far from it, but it didn't overwhelm him. In times of quiet, his thoughts would drift to Sam and what could be happening to him. His imagination was only too obliging when it came to coming up with horrors to torment him. Dean had seen what Crowley was capable of in that prison, and Dean didn't think he would treat Sam any better than the monsters he'd kept there. The only comfort he had was that Sam was alive. He was sure he would know if Sam was killed; he would feel it.

He heard footsteps coming up the stairs from the panic room, and he guessed correctly that it was Castiel back with something new for him to interrogate. Castiel plodded into the room, his brow creased into lines of sadness. It was how he always looked these days, ever since Sam had been taken. Dean knew he felt guilty for not being able to find Sam himself. The enochian sigils he had carved into their ribs years ago hid Sam from his sight. Dean didn't blame Castiel for it, he had been trying to protect them, but it was a blow to their efforts.

"I have a demon for you to speak to," Castiel said somberly. "It is bound in the panic room."

Dean scrubbed his hands over his face and pushed himself to his feet. "Better get to it then."

He trudged down to the basement, his sadness making every step feel like too much effort to bother with. It was only the chance that this demon may know more than all that had come before that enabled him to keep going.

The demon was a woman in her early twenties. She was attractive with long blonde hair and deep blue eyes. On any other day, Dean would have admired the demon's choice of meat suit, but today he merely felt a pang of regret for the fact he would likely have to kill this young woman in the process of extracting information.

"Dean Winchester," the demon said as he strode into the room and began examining his array of torture implements. "I've heard _so _much about you."

Dean ignored her but the demon kept talking.

"How's the search for Sammy going?"

Dean's anger surged and he grabbed a bucket of holy water from the floor. He tipped it over the demon's head, causing her to scream out as the water steamed and bubbled against her skin.

"What do you know about my brother?" he demanded.

The demon sputtered and tossed her damp hair out of her face. "Go to hell!"

Dean forced a smile. "No, that's where you will be going if you tell me where I can find Sam. If you don't, I will kill you."

The demon leered at him. "You wouldn't do that, kill this nice young woman. Her name's Beth. She's only twenty-one, a college student. She wants to work with animals when she's all grown up."

Dean shook his head ruefully. "There is nothing I won't do if it means getting my brother back, and that includes killing you."

He grabbed the demon blade from the table and walked towards the demon. He was choosing the right place to cut that would hurt the demon but not kill the girl. Despite what he had said, he didn't want to kill the poor girl the demon had taken as a meat suit. He knew Sam wouldn't want that, and since Sam's disappearance, his wants and needs had taken higher priority in Dean's mind.

He run the blade of the knife over the bare skin of the demon's arm, and blood welled in the wound.

The demon sucked in a breath between her teeth. "That tickled."

Dean pushed down his anger and run the blade across the demon's arm again.

"Oooh, do it again."

Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. These little cuts weren't going to get him what he needed. He lifted his arm, preparing to plunge the knife through the demon's arm, when he heard a voice calling his name from upstairs. He was confused; it was Bobby calling him, though why he would call for Dean instead of coming down he didn't know.

He and Castiel exchanged a glance and then they made their way up to the kitchen. Bobby was standing with his hands braced either side of the sink and his head was bowed.

"What's up?" Dean asked.

Bobby turned slowly and Dean was stunned to see that Bobby's eyes were red and wet looking. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "I… I don't know how to tell you."

Dean shook his head jerkily. "No, Bobby, no!"

Bobby nodded gravely. "I found Sam."

Those words were what Dean had been hoping to hear for weeks, but everything about Bobby's body language screamed bad news. His heart hammered in his chest. It sounded so loud to him that he didn't understand how nobody else seemed to hear it. Tears welled in his eyes, and he brushed them away with a shaking hand. He thought he knew what Bobby was about to tell him, and he didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to know that they were too late, that Sam was gone.

"No!" Bobby said, stepping forward with his hands upraised. "He's not… It's not what you think, Dean. He's alive."

Momentary relief crept through Dean followed by crushing doom once again. Sam was alive, but something bad had to have happened if Bobby was looking at him like that.

"Where is he?" Dean asked through the lump that had formed in his throat.

"East 14th street. Apartment 15b."

Dean was already in motion; he grabbed the keys from the counter and had a hand on the door before Bobby caught his arm.

"You need to listen to me now, Dean. You can't go running in there half cocked."

"Damnit, Bobby, let go of me," Dean demanded, struggling to pull his arm free.

Bobby shook his head. "Not till you listen to me. It's not what you think."

Castiel stepped forward and added his own restraining hand to Dean's arm. "What's happened to Sam? Is he hurt?"

"I don't think so," Bobby said. "But he's not himself."

Dean struggled against the hands that held him. He needed to get to his brother already, and he didn't understand why they were stopping him.

"Calm down and listen to me," Bobby said. "I will tell you it all, but not till you're calm. Trust me, if you go to Sam now, you will drive him away for good."

Nothing made sense to Dean. From the sounds of it, Sam hadn't been taken as they had thought; he seemed to have left of his own accord. That was ridiculous though. Sam wouldn't have made Dean suffer through the last weeks of pain of not knowing where he was or what had happened to him. He stopped struggling and took a deep breath. "What's happened to him?"

"I don't really know." Bobby tugged off his baseball cap and raked a hand through his hair. "I saw him at the store. He was just shopping for groceries."

Dean shook his head disbelievingly. "No… He wouldn't have… No!"

Bobby looked at him sympathetically. "I don't think he left us on purpose, Dean. Something's happened to him."

"Tell me everything," Dean said through gritted teeth.

Bobby sighed and released Dean's arm. He crossed the room and sank down onto one of the kitchen chairs. "Like I said, I saw him at the store. He was on his own, shopping. When he saw me, he recognized me, but—"

Dean interrupted. "He recognized you? Why wouldn't he?"

"That's the thing," Bobby said. "He knew me, but not really. He said we hadn't seen each other for years."

Dean sank down onto a chair opposite Bobby and rubbed a hand over his face. "That's crazy."

Bobby nodded. "Yeah. I asked him where he's been, but he didn't tell me. He just said it was a long story."

Dean exhaled a shaky breath. "Did he ask about me?"

Bobby looked at him apologetically. "I'm afraid not. He didn't mention you at all, and neither did I. I didn't want to trigger anything in him."

"Trigger?"

Bobby sighed. "Dean, something big has happened to Sam. My guess is that it's something to do with the wall Death put up. I didn't want to risk it anymore than I had to. I kept quiet and let him talk." He looked to Castiel for guidance. "Any ideas, Cas?"

Castiel looked thoughtful. "It sounds like Sam is suffering some sort of amnesia. The wall blocked memories of Hell and his soulless months. I suppose it could have done the same again if it was compromised. I do not know enough about the nature of what Death did to advise, but I believe you did the right thing in not attempting to force Sam to speak more."

Dean wasn't happy. He was overcoming his shock and now he was angry. "Why didn't you bring him back here?"

"How was I supposed to do that short of pulling a gun and forcing him into the car, getting myself arrested into the bargain?"

"What does that matter?" Dean asked. "You're buddies with the Sheriff. She would have taken care of it for you."

"And what about Sam? You think it would have helped him to be held at gunpoint. If I'm right, and the wall's crumbling, there's no knowing what could happen to him."

Dean shook his head jerkily. He saw the sense in Bobby's words, but he didn't want to accept it. What he wanted was his brother back with him, broken mind or not.

"I know what you're thinking, Dean, and you can't," Bobby said.

"He's my brother, I can do whatever the hell I like," Dean snarled.

Bobby nodded sadly. "You can, and there's nothing I can do to stop you, though it burns me to admit it, what I mean is that you can't go to him yet. He's working till eight."

"Working?"

"I guess so. That's what he told me anyway. I don't know if that means hunting or something else, but he won't be at the apartment."

Dean cursed. "What the hell are we supposed to do now?"

Bobby scrubbed a hand through his beard. "He's got my number. I think we should wait for him to come to us."

Dean looked at him as if he was seeing him clearly for the first time. "Wait? You're kidding, right?"

Bobby raised his one hand. "Hear me out. I think we need to let Sam come to us. If we force ourselves on him, we risk losing him altogether."

"And what are we supposed to do in the meantime?"

"The only thing we can do," Bobby said sadly. "We wait."

Dean shook his head. "I can't just sit here and wait for him to come to us, Bobby. I need to see him."

Castiel pushed away from the wall where he had been standing. "I believe I can help with that. We may not be able to see him immediately, but I can facilitate an excursion to Sam's apartment after eight o'clock. I will be able to hold him asleep long enough for you to see him."

It wasn't enough for Dean, he needed to talk to Sam in person, but it was the best offer on the table. He nodded and glanced at the clock. There were still seven hours to get through before he could see his brother, and each of them would weigh heavily on him.

He sighed. "Cas, can you do something with our house guest? Exorcise her and drop her off somewhere."

Castiel nodded and disappeared with a rustling sound.

Bobby eyed Dean shrewdly. "You're just going to see him, right? You're not going to try and drag him back here?"

Dean rubbed at his sore eyes. "I'm not going to do anything that might hurt Sam. I just need to see him." He wouldn't believe his brother was really okay until he saw him with his own eyes.

Bobby nodded his understanding. "I know you do."

They both sat back in their chairs and stared at the clock, waiting for the time to pass so they could see Sam again.

* * *

**I have a story recommendation for you today. It's the _Boogeyman_ by _Caladrius. _Don't let the title put you off. Caladrius has created a fascinating and engaging story full of twists and turns. I have not been able to stop reading and am now eagerly awaiting an update. Please give it a look and leave her some love. She deserves it.  
**

**Summary:** _When Sam was 9 his father put a gun into his hand and instructed him to shoot at the deadly thing stalking him from his closet. 14 years later Sam is obsessed with finishing what he couldn't at any cost, and Dean lives in fear of what will find his brother in the end. Protective Dean and Sam on a mission._

**Thanks for the reviews, faves and follows. **


	9. Chapter 9

**Thanks go to Gredelia1 for pre-reading and to Snarkymuch2 for giving me the plot bunny. This story is un-beta'd so any mistakes that remain are my own. **

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

By the time eight o'clock came around, Dean was climbing the walls.

He was desperate for it to be time to go to Sam and he was sick of waiting. He was all set to leave for Sam's the moment the clock struck the right hour, but Bobby pointed out that he would probably need time to get home and then to relax before he would go to sleep. Dean didn't see the problem with that, Castiel could zap in there and put him to sleep, but Castiel was wary of it. He pointed out that it might confuse Sam to wake in bed with no memory of how he'd got there. They wanted to avoid anything that could cause another breach in the wall—if that was what had happened in the first place. Dean still wasn't convinced something else hadn't happened to Sam. Castiel agreed to go to Sam's apartment, invisible, to wait for him to fall asleep so he could bring Dean in at the right, safe time.

Since Bobby's shopping trip had been curtailed by his meeting with Sam, they had no liquor in the house to soften the hours waiting. Dean was forced to sit drinking mug after mug of coffee as he waited. He was wired and highly caffeinated when Castiel finally came back.

"He is sleeping," he said as he appeared in the kitchen.

Dean felt irrationally jealous of Bobby and Castiel. They had both seen Sam already, they had seen for themselves that he was okay, but Dean—his own brother—had been forced to wait till last.

He got to his feet and crossed the room to stand beside Castiel. "I'm ready. Let's go."

"Are you coming," Castiel asked Bobby.

Bobby considered for a moment and then nodded. "I guess I better."

"You don't trust me?" Dean asked, his fists clenched at his sides. "You think I'm going to persuade Cas to drag him back here."

"No, I was thinking you might want a little support for this. It's not going to be the reunion you want, Dean."

Bobby was merely saying what Dean already knew. He wanted the big moment with Sam, he wanted to be able to talk to him, but he was horribly aware that he was just going to have to watch his brother sleeping, not knowing he was there. It wasn't enough, but it would have to do.

"I know that," he said bitterly.

Castiel placed a hand on Dean and Bobby's shoulders, and Dean felt the disorienting sensation of being moved through space while standing still. He automatically closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he was standing in the middle of a small lounge. It was sparsely furnished. There was little sign that someone lived there at all other than a half completed crossword puzzle on the coffee table and a jacket hanging over the back of a chair. Dean was not surprised to see so little of his brother's personality stamped on the room; when you grew up on the road you got used to carrying your life in one bag.

He turned on his heel and took in the room. "Where's Sam?" he asked.

Castiel pointed to one of the doors. "In the bedroom."

"You want us to come with?" Bobby asked.

Dean shook his head. He wanted to be alone for this. On leaden feet, he crossed the room and eased open the door. The curtains were closed, but the light of the streetlamp streamed through the thin cotton, illuminating the room, so Dean could see well enough. Sam was sleeping as he always did, curled over his pillow as if embracing it. The light streamed over his face, making his features clear.

Dean stopped dead in his tracks and sighed out a heavy breath. "Dammit, Sammy, what the hell happened to you?"

The only response he got from Sam was that he burrowed a little deeper into his pillow.

Dean shook his head. He didn't know what to do now. Despite it all, what he wanted more than anything was for his brother to wake up so they could talk, though he had no idea what he would say to him if he did. He didn't know what place he held in his brother's memories. Sam thought he hadn't seen Bobby for years, would it be the same for Dean or could it possibly be worse. The fact Sam hadn't mentioned him to Bobby was ominous.

"Dean!" Bobby hissed at the door.

Dean turned and saw Bobby was clutching a piece of paper in his hand, looking pale. Dean raised his eyebrows and followed Bobby back out to the lounge.

"What?"

Bobby held out the piece of paper and Dean's eyes skimmed over it. It was a letter confirming a series of outpatient therapy sessions. Of all the revelations Dean had heard that day, the news that Sam went to therapy was the least shocking.

He shrugged. "If anyone needs therapy…"

Bobby scowled at him. "Look at the name."

Dean eyes glanced over the letter again. "Who the hell's Sam _Wesson_?"

"I believe that is the title Sam has adopted," Castiel said drily.

"Yeah. I figured that much out for myself, thanks, Cas. What I don't understand is why Sam would change his name." What he didn't voice was that he didn't like it either. Winchester was their father's name, the name that was known throughout the hunters' world as a name to be reckoned with. The Winchesters had saved the world.

"Maybe he didn't," Bobby said. "We don't know what happened when the wall screwed up. Maybe someone else gave Sam his name."

Dean looked down at the piece of paper in his hands and something else leaped out at him. "Bobby, this is from the Lincoln Center."

Bobby snatched the paper out of his hand. "But that's just…"

"Crazy?" Dean suggested with a raised eyebrow. "It is what it is, Bobby."

Bobby shook his head wordlessly.

"What is it about the name that troubles you?" Castiel asked.

Bobby cleared his throat. "The Lincoln Center is the local nuthouse." He looked aghast for a moment and then something evidently occurred to him as he smiled. "This could be good. The hospital will have files on Sam."

"We need to see those files," Dean said heatedly.

Bobby nodded. "What do you think, Cas? Can you get us into the records room at the hospital?"

"Of course I can," Castiel said in the tone of one explaining something very simple to someone very obtuse.

"Let's get gone then," Bobby said.

Dean stared back through the door at his sleeping brother. He knew he couldn't stay here watching Sam sleep—that was just plain creepy—but he didn't want to leave either.

"We'll sort something out," Bobby said consolingly. "You'll see him again."

Dean nodded tiredly. "I know. Let's go."

Castiel rested a hand on their shoulders, and a moment later, they were in a dark room lined with filing cabinets.

Dean's eyes took a moment to adjust to the lack of light. As soon as he was able to half see the room, he fell upon the filing cabinet marked with the letter W. He tugged at the drawers, but they were locked. He rooted through his pocket and pulled out his lock-picking tools. With a few twists and muttered curses, he got the filing cabinet open and he immediately began searching for a file with Sam's name on it. There was more than a file marked with Sam's new name, there was a stack of them. Dean grabbed them from the folder and immediately flipped them open. It was too dark to read by the dim light of the room, and he reached for the light switch, curiosity overpowering safety.

"I was wondering when I'd be seeing you, Dean."

The voice cut through the quiet of the room, and shocked Dean to the core, as it wasn't Bobby or Castiel speaking. He spun on his heel and saw a man standing by the door. The man reached out a hand and a moment later the room was cast into brightness that made Dean squint after the darkness.

"And you brought Castiel and Bobby," the man said. "This is an unexpected pleasure."

"Abiel!" Castiel spoke through gritted teeth.

Dean would have known the man was an angel even without Castiel's familiarity with the man. There was something in the way he stood that spoke of power and arrogance of that power. He was heavily built, with bulging muscles that stretched the fabric of his shirt. Castiel looked tiny in comparison.

Castiel snapped his wrist and his blade slipped into his palm. The other angel, Abiel, did the same, and they both began to circle one another. Dean and Bobby shrunk back against the wall, neither wanting to hinder Castiel as he fought.

"I should have known this was down to you," Castiel said. "It has your fingerprints all over it."

Abiel smiled. "You flatter me, Castiel. This was not of my doing. I am merely an emissary of our master."

"Your master, not mine," Castiel said harshly.

"For now."

Castiel's lip curled. "Why have you done this?"

"I already told you, I didn't," Abiel said. "This punishment was created by one so much greater than you or I. It was the perfect plan. You have spent six weeks chasing Sam Winchester, forgetting the real fight. Your love of the humans was ever your weakness, Castiel."

Castiel stopped circling and dived forward with his blade extended. Abiel dodged the move and his own blade shot out to parry Castiel's. They collided with a sonorous clang, and Dean was sure someone had to have heard it outside their small room.

Castiel lunged forward again, but Abiel dodged him. He laughed quietly. "I would truly love to kill you now, Castiel, but orders decree that I must leave you for another's weapon. Pity." Abiel looked at Dean and he smiled. "I would advise against trying to jog Sam's memory. That wall is a tremulous thing. There's no knowing what the damage could be if it fell."

Dean stepped forward, not caring that he was only a human, weaponless, against an angel. He only cared that this man had something to do with taking Sam away from him, and he wanted revenge.

Abiel chuckled. "I will see you again, Dean Winchester." He nodded and then disappeared with a rustling sound.

Before Dean could say or do anything, Castiel returned them to Bobby's house. They arrived in the middle of the lounge. Dean moved away from Castiel at once, and began pacing the length of the room with Sam's files clutched in his hands.

"Dean," Bobby said gently.

"What?" Dean snapped. "What can you possibly say that can make this any better?"

"Nothing," Bobby admitted. "I was going to say that we should read through those papers. Cas needs to take them back before morning."

Dean looked at the papers clutched in his hands and sighed. The answers to where his brother had been were hidden in those pages. Dean wanted to know what had happened to Sam, but now, faced with the information, he was wary.

He held the files out to Bobby who took them and settled down at the desk. Drawing a deep breath, Bobby flipped open the first page and began to read aloud.

"Sam Wesson, born May second eighty-three—least they got that part right—admitted May Twelfth…" He trailed off looking stunned.

"What?" Dean demanded, circling the desk and reading over Bobby's shoulder. "Holy crap!"

"What is it?" Castiel asked.

"He was admitted over a year ago," Bobby said.

Castiel frowned. "I don't understand."

Dean cursed. "Really, Cas, you don't? It's pretty simple to me. Your buddy Abiel bounced Sam back in time and landed him in the loony bin."

Castiel shook his head. "It wasn't Abiel that did this."

"Then who did?" Bobby asked.

Dean scowled at him. "Does it matter? Whoever it was screwed Sam over royally."

"It was Raphael," Castiel said, as if he hadn't heard Dean.

Bobby cursed. "I figured as much. Was Abiel telling the truth do you think? Was this all because of you?"

Castiel nodded somberly. "I believe so. His plan, I believe, was to distract me from the war by taking Sam. It is a plan that succeeded. I have been consumed with the search for Sam, leaving my troops to lead themselves."

"Who gives a crap why it happened?" Dean demanded. "What matters is Sam and how we're supposed to fix this."

"What exactly is there to fix?" Castiel asked. "What do those papers tell you?"

Bobby picked up the papers and read through them quickly, his frown becoming deeper the more he read. "It says here that he was involved in an altercation with cops after being found in the throes of a psychotic break in Falls Park. Apparently, he was hunting a werewolf. They took him to the hospital and, reading between the lines, shot him full of sedatives."

"But when did this happen?" Dean asked. "Did they really bounce him back a year or is all this made up crap?"

"That's the least of our worries at the moment," Bobby said turning over a page. "Wait till you read this."

He handed Dean a page from the file and Dean read aloud.

"Sam's remission from episodes failed today. During a routine afternoon in the dayroom, he became confrontational with staff. The Winchester delusion was dominant and he was chemically restrained."

"The Winchester _delusion_?" Dean said.

Bobby nodded. "There's a note to an appendices." He flicked through the pages and came to a heavy sheaf of paper. He read through it quickly, and then looked up at Dean. "It's all here. Sam's life, his _real _life, not the civilian story. Hunting, the yellow-eyed demon, angels, the apocalypse, the lot."

Dean's eyes widened. "He talked?"

Bobby shrugged. "He must have. No one else but us knows it all."

"Us and the angels," Dean pointed out. "They know it all too. So what are you telling me? Raphael has him convinced that the real world is a delusion and that this Wesson story is his real life?"

"I think it must be," Bobby said in wonderment. "You have to admit, it's a stroke of genius. Who would believe the truth if Sam started talking. It's so much more likely that it's just a delusion compared with the real story."

Dean cursed. His brother had been locked up for who knew how long, and had somehow been convinced that his real life was a delusion.

"So who does he think he is now?" he asked.

Bobby tutted and searched through the papers. "Here, there's a note on his history… Oh."

"Oh, what?" Dean asked, worry creeping through him. "What does it say?"

"Well," Bobby scrubbed a hand through his beard, "we know why he didn't ask after you. It says here you're dead."

Dean eyes widened. "I'm dead!"

Bobby looked apologetic. "You died in the fire that killed your mom."

Dean's hands clenched into fists and he punched the wall. A book fell from a shelf, but Bobby remained quiet. "I swear to all that's holy, when I find Raphael, I am going to pluck his feathers and shove them up his ass!"

Castiel cleared his throat and Dean rounded on him. "Don't say a word!" He thought if Castiel spoke, he would lose the fragile control he had over his temper. He didn't want to blame Castiel for what had happened, but there was the unavoidable fact that because of him and his war, Sam believed Dean was dead.

"Dean," Bobby said gently, "we can fix this."

"Really, Bobby, how are we supposed to fix this? Raphael has been screwing with him for a year now, making him believe a lie. He won't even know me anymore. What the hell do we do?"

Bobby sighed and Dean knew he had no more idea of how to help Sam than he did. Dean flopped down on the couch and bowed over with his head in his hands. He was overwhelmed by the futility of his situation. He felt a hand on his shoulder and he knew Bobby was attempting to comfort him when nothing but Sam could. But Sam wasn't going to be able to comfort him. When Dean saw him, he would be a stranger to him. The only brother Sam would know would be a dead child he wouldn't even have a memory of.

Tears pricked at Dean's eyes, and he let them fall.

* * *

**So our big bad has been revealed. How many of you worked it out?**

**Thanks again for all the reviews, faves and alerts. Feedback is like crack to a writer and you're all my dealers.  
**

**I have another rec or you today. _Lustra: Episode One – Earth Angel _by _Agelade. _I cannot compliment this story enough. I am completely hooked in by Agelade's writing and characterizations. She had written a Crowley that I have fallen in love with, a Castiel that's wonderful, and the bond between the brothers… Well, I wish I had her talent. Please read and leave her some love. She totally deserves it.**

**Summary: **Episode 1 in Lustra, a Supernatural Season 9 AU. Sam Winchester has made his choice in the little abandoned church at the end of that lake-side lane. Not for the first time, Dean can't stop him from throwing his life away. But things don't always go as planned, especially not for the Winchesters, and now they have more than one mess to clean up.


	10. Chapter 10

**Thanks go to Gredelia1 for pre-reading and to Snarkymuch2 for giving me the plot bunny. This story is un-beta'd so any mistakes that remain are my own.**

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**Chapter Ten**

Sam woke early the next morning. He threw back the sheets, ready to start a new day. He had felt that way ever since his first day out of the hospital. Before his release, he had been worried about life on the outside, but he found that he slipped into it easily enough, so much so that he couldn't imagine how he had lasted in the hospital for so long without losing hope completely.

He padded barefoot into the kitchen and set the coffee maker to working. He leaned against the counter as he waited for it to brew, looking across at the bulletin board he had pinned to the wall. There were reminders and takeout menus there, but thing he was looking for seemed to be missing. He had put the latest letter from the hospital, listing his appointments with Doctor Windsor, up there, but it was gone. He scanned the floor and found it lying beneath the table. Wondering at how it could have come to be there, he picked it up and read down the page. He had an outpatient appointment with Doctor Windsor that morning, and then, as he was off work for the day, he was free to do as he pleased.

The coffee machine beeped to show that it was ready, and Sam poured himself a mug and took it into the lounge. He flicked on the TV and changed the channel to a news station. This was a habit he shared with Sam Winchester, though the latter was always on the lookout for a new case, Sam Wesson liked to know what was going on in the world.

He sipped his coffee and watched the report, noting nothing more exciting than some strange weather patterns in a North Dakota town that had meteorologists baffled. Sam Winchester would read more into that than global warming, but Sam Wesson dismissed it as unimportant.

He checked the time and saw that he only had half an hour before he was due at the hospital again, so he swigged the dregs of his coffee and made for the shower. There were some things that he appreciated more than ever after his release from the hospital, and being able to shower in his own time was one of them. There was no one banging on the door, calling him to breakfast, and he was free to shave with a wet razor again. Enjoying the process, he didn't rush, and so he had to jog to the hospital to make his appointment in time. He knew the process would be much faster if he had a car, but he was saving every free cent to pay his start-up money from the hospital back. He didn't like owing anyone money.

When he got to the hospital, he was ushered through into Doctor Windsor's office to find the doctor waiting for him with his clipboard on his knee. He stood to greet Sam, and they shook hands.

"Sam, it's good to see you," Doctor Windsor said. "How have you been?"

Sam considered the question carefully, knowing it was more than a polite enquiry. The doctor genuinely needed to know what was happening with Sam.

"I'm doing okay," he said, sinking down onto the plush armchair. "No more episodes at least."

The doctor nodded. "That's good, but there is something troubling you."

Sam shifted uncomfortably. "I met an old friend the other day."

Doctor Windsor leaned forward in his seat and rested his chin on his steepled fingers. "This should be good news. You never mentioned any friends before."

That was true. Sam hadn't had any real friends since Stanford. When he'd dropped out to join his father in their endless drifter life he had left them all behind. Sam _Winchester_ had friends, other hunters, but they were all imagined.

"What's the problem, Sam?"

"It's Bobby Singer."

The doctor's eyes widened. "Bobby Singer? That's the surrogate father figure of Sam and Dean Winchester, yes?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, but he's a real guy too. He's an old friend of my father."

"It must have been difficult for you to see him."

Sam shook his head. "It really wasn't. I didn't get confused at all. I didn't embarrass myself by asking him anything strange. I don't think he would have been able to tell anything was different about me."

That was something Sam had been relieved about. Bobby Singer was the first person he had met from his old life since leaving the hospital, and while they didn't talk for long, Sam had been able to stay calm and collected throughout the meeting, and he hadn't slipped into an episode. He could only imagine how he could have embarrassed himself and Bobby by suddenly slipping into the Winchester delusion. The things he could have said…

"It sounds like you did well," Doctor Windsor said. "So why are you disheartened now?"

"He wanted to go for a beer," Sam said.

"Oh, I see. But that needn't have stopped you, Sam. You could have explained your circumstances and suggested coffee instead. Alcoholism is nothing to be ashamed of."

"That's not the problem, though it's something to be considered. I was worried about letting something slip. I haven't had an episode for six weeks now, but what if being with him triggered something somehow?"

The doctor sighed and removed his spectacles. He squinted as he polished them on his tie. "You cannot avoid these things forever, Sam. At some point, you are going to run into reminders of your delusion, and they will have to be faced. It seems to me that this meeting with Mr. Singer was your first hurdle. Tell me, did he leave you with a way to contact him again."

Sam nodded. "I got his card."

"Then I suggest you call him and arrange another meeting. You say he was a friend of your father; he may be as eager as you to meet again. I imagine he misses your father."

Sam snorted. "I doubt that, but I guess you're right, I should try and call him up."

Doctor Windsor looked satisfied. "When did you last see Mr. Singer?"

"That depends, do you mean me or Sam Winchester."

"I mean you, Sam," the doctor said patiently. "Though by all means tell me about the delusion as well. You know I am always eager to connect the dots there."

Sam clasped his hands between his knees. "Sam Winchester last saw Bobby the night he went to get pizza. Him and Dean were staying at Bobby's place after their last hunt."

"And what happened really?"

Sam looked down at his hands. "It was after the car crash. Dad got me to call Bobby to tow the car back to his salvage yard. I went by Bobby's and he told me that the car was unsalvageable."

"What happened next, Sam?"

Sam's eyes burned and he blinked rapidly. "I went back to the hospital. Me and Dad argued about the car, I said some things that were pretty low. I went to get coffee, and when I came back he…"

"He died," Doctor Windsor finished for him.

Sam nodded mutely.

The doctor cleared his throat. "And you never saw Mr. Singer again?"

"Not till yesterday."

"Why didn't you go back, Sam?"

"I was ashamed," Sam said. "Bobby was dad's friend, and I'd killed him."

The doctor shook his head. "You didn't kill him. It was an accident."

"It was my fault," Sam said through gritted teeth. "I was the one driving the car."

"And the truck that plowed into you was faultless?"

Sam shook his head. He didn't want to hear excuses for what he had done. He had been the one behind the wheel when the truck had hit them. It was his fault. He had killed his father. That was one of the reasons the Winchester story was better than real life. Sam Winchester hadn't killed his father; John had sacrificed himself to save Dean. But that was just a story, real life was harder.

The doctor cleared his throat and smiled. "In the delusion, Bobby Singer became a father figure to you and your brother. I'm sure you see the significance of that."

Sam nodded. "He filled the void of my father's absence. One thing I don't understand though, if my delusion was strong enough to create a brother to take care of me, why didn't it save my father from that truck?"

Doctor Windsor looked thoughtful. "I suppose it was limited by your own beliefs. You knew you once had a brother, and I imagine he took on a mythical power in your childhood. The brother that would have protected you had he been there. Your father was dead, and you had passed through that grief so much so that your delusion filled the absence of his loss with Mr. Singer rather than resurrecting your father."

Sam considered. He didn't have many memories of his real childhood, though he had plenty from the delusion. He guessed nothing in his childhood was poignant enough to leave a lasting impact. Unlike his delusion, his own childhood wasn't interspersed with myths and monsters. It made sense that his father stayed dead in his delusion. The human mind only had so much power.

"So, are you going to arrange a meeting with Mr. Singer?"

"Yeah, I think I will, but…"

"But what?"

"What do I tell him about where I've been? Even ignoring the last year spent in the nuthouse, I haven't done anything worth talking about in the years since I saw him last."

"You are placing too much worth on your delusion," Doctor Windsor said sternly. "You are comparing your real life to that of Sam Winchester. Normal people don't have anything to show from one year to the next. Are you telling me that Mr. Singer will have great tales of saving the world and hunting monsters to share?"

Sam laughed and shook his head. "No, he runs a salvage business."

The doctor smiled. "There you go. He has been living these past years, just living, as have you. If he asks what you have been doing, tell him as much as you feel comfortable telling him. You may be surprised. People tend to prefer to talk about the future more than they do the past." The doctor lifted his sleeve and checked his watch. "And that brings us to the end of our session. Is there anything else you need to discuss before we part?"

Sam shook his head. "No, I'm good."

"In that case I will see you again next week. I wish you luck with your friend, Sam."

Sam stood and they shook hands. "Thanks, Doc."

"You are very welcome."

Sam felt the doctor's eyes on him as he made his way back along the corridor and to the exit. He had thought about stopping by to visit Marcy while he was here, but now, filled with confidence from his session with the doctor, Sam wanted to get back to the apartment so he could call Bobby. He had a feeling he should do it before he lost his nerve.

Sam's hand shook slightly as he unlocked his door. He wanted to make the call, but he was nervous about it. All the confidence he had garnered in the doctor's office had disappeared to be replaced with trepidation.

He got inside and dropped his keys in a bowl by the door. He had pinned Bobby's business card to the bulletin board, and he crossed the room and scanned the number. Taking a deep breath, he pulled out his phone and dialed. It rang a few times before a gruff voice answered.

"Singer Salvage."

"Um, hi, Bobby. It's Sam Wesson."

The voice instantly became more affable. "Sam, good to hear from you. How are you doing?"

"I'm good. I was wondering if you still wanted to get together for a drink."

Sam heard voices in the background and he tried to listen, but he only heard Bobby shushing the speaker.

"That'd be great. Do you want me to come into town or do you want to come by my place?"

Sam considered. Going to Bobby's might be overwhelming, as he hadn't been there since his father died, but it would give him privacy that the town couldn't. If he was going to be honest with Bobby, to tell him what had really happened to him, he wanted privacy for it.

"If you don't mind, I'll come by your place."

"Sure I don't mind. I have another guest at the moment, Dean… Smith. He knew your father too."

The name Dean caused a pang of regret in Sam. It wasn't an uncommon name though, and Sam knew that he couldn't avoid reminders of his brother forever.

"You sure you don't mind me coming by?" he asked.

"Of course not. It'll be good to see you."

"Okay then. I'll be there soon."

"You want me to swing by and pick you up?" Bobby asked.

"Nah, I'm good. It won't take me long to walk."

"If you're sure…"

"I am," Sam said firmly. He needed the walk to calm him down and burn off some of his nervous energy before he saw Bobby.

"Then I'll be seeing you."

They exchanged goodbyes and Sam slipped the phone back in his pocket. He went into the bedroom and pulled on a clean shirt then grabbed his keys again.

His nerves increased as he locked the door behind him. He was leaving his safe haven behind. He felt a lot like he did the morning he checked out of the hospital. Then his fears had proved baseless; he hoped it would be the same again.

It was a thirty-minute walk to Bobby's place, and he thought of turning back many times. It was only sheer determination that made him keep putting one foot in front of the other. As he approached Bobby's scrap-yard, he drew a deep calming breath. He had made it that far at least. He passed under the wrought iron entrance and wound his way through the stacks of cars that were the result of Bobby's trade.

When he'd come here in the past with his father, he had used the familiar entrance that led into the kitchen. Now, he went approached the front of the house and used the entrance that would lead into the hall.

He paused at the door and steadied his shaking hands before ringing the bell. There was the sound of footsteps, and then the door swung open.

Sam had expected to see Bobby on the other side, but it was an unfamiliar man standing on the threshold. He was tall, only a few inches shorter than Sam, and well built. Sam didn't think he would like to match him in a fight. He had a look about him that said pretty clearly that he could take care of himself. Despite the air of competence the man radiated, he looked troubled now. His eyed raked over Sam, making him uncomfortable.

Sam raised his eyebrow and the man seemed to realize he was making Sam uncomfortable. He looked abashed and his lips curled into a rueful smile.

Sam held out a hand. "Hey, I'm Sam."

For a moment, the man just stared at Sam as if at a loss for words and then he cleared his throat. "Hi, Sam. I'm Dean."

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**Poor Dean. He's really going to struggle with this. **

**I will have the next chapter up as soon as I can. **


	11. Chapter 11

**Thanks go to Gredelia1 for pre-reading and to Snarkymuch2 for giving me the plot bunny. This story is un-beta'd so any mistakes that remain are my own. **

**A couple of you were confused by the fact Sam didn't recognize Dean in the last chapter. The reason for this is - and I've never found a way to fit it into the story - that Sam remembers the Winchester story the way you remember a book you've read. He has all the facts but none of the faces. Raphael did a good job with his mind. **

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**Chapter Eleven**

Bobby was sitting at the desk with a heavy tome open in front of him, and Dean was staring at the TV. To an outsider they looked like they were absorbed in their tasks, but it was a lie. Bobby hadn't turned a page in five minutes, and Dean was hardly entranced by the infomercials. Both of their thoughts were miles away, back in town with Sam.

Bobby cleared his throat and Dean's gaze snapped to him, half hoping Bobby was going to share some wisdom to make the waiting a little easier, but Bobby merely shrugged and turned back to his book.

The phone rang and Bobby to leaned across the desk to pick it up. "Singer Salvage," he said dully.

There was silence for a moment, and then Bobby's whole aspect changed. The tension in his shoulders eased and he smiled. "Sam! Good to hear from you. How are you doing?"

In one smooth movement, Dean got to his feet and crossed the room to stand beside Bobby. "What is it?" he hissed. "Is he okay?" Bobby waved an arm to silence him but Dean ignored it and plowed on. "What's he saying?"

Bobby covered the receiver and shushed Dean. Crossing his arms over his chest Dean sat on the edge of the desk.

Bobby listened for a moment and then his face split into a wide grin. "That'd be great. Do you want me to come into town or do you want to come by my place?"

Dean's dour mood lightened considerably. Sam was coming over… hopefully. Then another idea dawned on Dean and he was plummeted back into misery. What if Sam wasn't ready to meet other people? Bobby might make Dean leave for the duration of his visit. His fears were abated by Bobby's next words.

"Sure I don't mind. I have another guest at the moment, Dean… Smith. He knew your father, too."

If he was telling Sam about Dean being there, he must think Sam was ready to be around him too. He barely heard the rest of Bobby and Sam's conversation; he was too distracted by the idea of seeing Sam again, of being able to talk to him. He wasn't stupid enough to think that one sight of his brother was going to snap Sam out of whatever delusion he was living under, but it was a start. He would have to be careful, go slow, but merely being able to talk to his brother was enough to make him smile again.

Bobby set the phone down and turned his eyes to Dean. "He's coming over."

Dean nodded. "I figured. How'd he sound?"

Bobby considered. "Kinda nervous. He must be determined though, because he's on his way."

Dean pushed off of the side of the desk and made a pass of the room. His nervous energy made it hard to stay still.

"You've got to calm down," Bobby said sternly.

Dean paused his pacing and looked at Bobby. "What do you mean calm? I am calm!"

Bobby raised his eyebrows and Dean smiled.

"Okay, I will be calm, but in case you haven't noticed, Bobby, this is kinda a big deal."

"It is, and that's why we've got keep our heads. It took a lot for Sam to make that call and it'll take even more for him to get over here."

Dean's brow creased with confusion. "What do you mean?"

"If we're right, and Raphael bounced Sam back a year to land him in that hospital, Sam has got to have a bunch of issues to be dealing with. You don't spend a year in a place like that without racking up some serious nerves about being on the outside. I told you he sounded nervous, and he's likely feeling a lot more than he let me hear; we need to make it as easy for him as possible."

"You think I don't know that? He's my brother dammit. I know how to take care of him."

"No, you _knew_ how to take care of him. He's not the same person that walked away from us six weeks ago. He's not Sam anymore."

Dean bristled. He knew how to take care of his brother. He'd been doing it his whole life. Maybe Sam had changed, but that just meant Dean had to change too. Give him a few minutes with his brother and he would know what to do.

"….most of all, keep your temper in check."

Dean looked up. Apparently Bobby had been talking without him realizing. "What's my temper got to do with anything?"

"Sam's…" Bobby struggled to find the right word, "fragile right now. He's not going to be able to weather your moods the way he used to. Whatever he says, you have to keep your head."

Dean rolled his eyes. Bobby wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know. He had to go easy on Sam, know that he'd changed… blah blah blah. It would all work out, it always did.

Dean went into the kitchen and put on a pot of fresh coffee. He checked the fridge and saw it was well stocked with cold beer, Bobby having gone to the grocery store that morning. He looked around the place, wondering if Bobby would take offence if he tidied some of the books away, but then changed his mind. Maybe the sight of the house as it had been the night Sam had last been here would make Sam remember something. They had to be careful not to damage the wall—God knows they didn't want that to come tumbling down—but there had to be a way of getting through to Sam without risking that. For all his concern, Dean just wanted his real brother back.

After thirty-minutes waiting and wondering if he was ever going to show, there was a knock at the door. Bobby got to his feet, but Dean held up a hand. "Let me, Bobby, please."

Bobby nodded and Dean went through to the hall to open the little used public entrance to Bobby's place. He pondered the fact his brother had chosen this entrance when he had once been comfortable just letting himself in. He took a deep breath and then swung it open.

There he stood, shaggy hair obscuring his face, broad shoulders hunched, but a tentative smile playing on his lips. Dean just stared at him for a moment, taking in the sight of his brother. In the six weeks he had been gone, Dean had come close to giving up hope that he would ever see Sam again, but here he was.

Sam raised an eyebrow and Dean realized he had been standing and staring too long. He smiled ruefully and Sam smiled in return.

He held out a hand. "Hey, I'm Sam."

Dean thought he was ready for this, but he was wrong. It was physically painful for Dean to be introduced to his brother as if he was a stranger. He swallowed the lump in his throat and shook Sam's hand. "Hi, Sam, I'm Dean."

Dean stepped back and gestured Sam into the house. Sam stood poised on the doorstep for a moment, and then he crossed the threshold and followed Dean into the kitchen. Dean had hoped for some recognition in Sam at seeing Bobby's place, but there was none. Sam only smiled and walked towards Bobby.

It shouldn't have bothered Dean, seeing Sam so pleased to see Bobby, but it did. He wanted to be the one Sam went to with a wide smile and outstretched hand. It was his place but he had been usurped by Bobby. Trying not to let his discomfort show, he opened the fridge and called to Sam over his shoulder. "You want a beer?"

"Um, no thanks."

There was something in Sam's tone that made Dean turn and look at him. He was nervous, though why the offer of a drink would make him nervous Dean didn't know. Sam was rubbing at the back of his neck and looking apologetic—sure signs that he was hiding something.

"I'd take a coffee though," he said quietly.

Dean nodded and went to the coffee machine. He poured three mugs and carried them over to the table where Sam and Bobby were already sitting and placed a mug in front of each of them.

He sat down opposite Sam and tried to examine his brother without being obvious about it. Sam was cupping his mug in his slightly shaking hands. He was gnawing on his bottom lip the way he always did when he was nervous. It was a common scene in Sam as a teenager, but he had lost the habit as he'd grown in stature and confidence. It bothered Dean to see these signs of nerves now, when Sam was amongst family.

"So, Sam," Bobby said, no sign of discomfort in him, "how've you been?"

Sam had been taking a sip of his coffee and he choked as he hurried to answer Bobby's question. He sputtered for a moment and then swallowed. Massaging his chest, he cleared his throat and spoke. "I've been… okay. Some stuff happened, but I'm okay now."

Bobby nodded. "You said you were working now; how's that going?"

Sam smiled. "It's good. I'm working at the Falls Inn, doing maintenance. Bill, the owner, is a decent guy, and he's been good giving me a chance."

Dean instinctively wanted to reassure his brother. "From what Bobby told me you don't sound like you're afraid of hard work. Sounds to me like this Bill got a good deal taking you on."

Sam ducked his head, embarrassed. "I don't know about that, but I enjoy the work. It's good to just get lost in it for a while. It gives me time to think."

And he certainly had enough to be thinking about, thought Dean.

"So what about you, Dean?" Sam asked. "What do you do?"

Dean wanted to tell the truth. He wanted to tell Sam that he travelled the country with his brother, killing monsters and saving people. He wanted that more than almost anything. The only thing that stopped him speaking it was the risk to his brother. Even if it didn't topple the wall, Sam would surely make a run for it, and now he was finally here, Dean didn't want him to go again. It was a miserable thought that this might be his life forever now, hiding the truth from Sam. They might never achieve the closeness they had before.

He took a deep breath. "I'm a mechanic. I've been here helping Bobby out for the last couple months, but the rest of the time I travel around taking short stop jobs."

Sam nodded. "Life on the road. I used to do that too. Is that how you met my father?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "We crossed paths a while ago."

"Strange he never mentioned you."

"I think you were away at college when we met," Dean said.

"Oh," Sam looked thoughtful for a moment. "That explains it."

"Yeah, it was Stanford, right?"

Sam nodded. "Pre-law."

"I remember. A full ride. Your father was real proud of you."

Sam sputtered on his coffee and raised his eyes to Dean. "That doesn't sound like him."

"No? Well he was. He couldn't stop talking about it."

"That _definitely_ doesn't sound like him. He was never proud of me."

"He was," Dean said doggedly. He was angry that, even in Sam's made up world, him and John didn't have the relationship he knew Sam always wanted. "Real proud."

Sam wiped a hand over his face. "It's nice of you to say it, Dean, but I know exactly what my father was and what he thought of me."

Dean gritted his teeth, anger at Raphael and what he had done rising in him. "And what was your father?"

"An alcoholic drifter that would waste his last dime on a drink or a bet in that order," Sam said guilelessly.

Dean's anger surged. He couldn't stop the next words coming out as they did, sounding like an accusation. "And you think you're a better man than him?"

Bobby drew in a hissed breath between his teeth and scowled at Dean. "That's enough!"

Sam waved him down. "No, Bobby, it's okay. You're wrong, Dean. I know I'm not a better man than him, far from it in fact." He ran a hand through his hair and looked as if he was girding himself for something. "I know exactly how much of a failure I am, but I'm doing my best to make up for that now."

"He didn't mean…" Bobby began, but Sam shook his head.

"I should go." Sam pushed away his mug and got to his feet. "It was good seeing you again, Bobby. Dean, it was nice to meet you too."

"Sam, please don't go," Bobby said.

"I really should." He turned to Dean. "I can only guess you saw a side on my father that was hidden from me. I'm glad you have some good memories of him, and I can only wish I had the same."

They heard his plodding footsteps moving along the hall and then the door clicked closed behind him. Dean got to his feet and crossed to the window in time to see his brother break into a run, passing under the entrance to the scrap-yard.

"Dammit, Dean!" Bobby said angrily.

"I know, Bobby."

"What were you thinking?"

"I wasn't," Dean admitted. "It just pissed me off to hear him talking about Dad like that. He may have had his faults, but he wasn't what Sam thinks he was."

"And whose fault is that? Sam's? No. It was Raphael that planted those memories and Raphael you should be angry at, not your brother. What are we supposed to do now? He's sure as shit not going to come back here."

"I'll fix it," Dean said quietly.

"And how are you going to do that?"

Dean didn't know, he only knew that he had to.

He turned away from the window and looked at Bobby. "I can fix this."

* * *

**Poor Dean (again).**

**Thanks for the faves, alerts and reviews. I appreciate them more than I can say. **


	12. Chapter 12

**Thanks go to Gredelia1 for pre-reading and to Snarkymuch2 for giving me the plot bunny. This story is un-beta'd so any mistakes that remain are my own. **

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

Sam closed the door behind him and leaned his forehead against the cool wood. He had jogged the whole way home, and now he was tired. He told himself he hadn't been running away from what had happened at Bobby's place, but he wasn't even able to convince himself. The truth was his confrontation with Dean had rattled him. He thought on any other occasion he would get on with Dean, he seemed a nice guy, but they had stumbled on the topic of John, and that had blown things away.

Sam didn't hate his father, far from it, he loved him, but they had butted heads so often that it made it impossible to forge a deeper relationship. All they had in common was the predilection for drink and a life spent on the road. It seemed Dean had a better relationship with John, and that made Sam sad. Why was it that his father had been able to charm a stranger when he couldn't be civil for more than five minutes with his own son?

He pushed away from the door and walked into the bathroom. His impromptu jog in the South Dakota summer heat had left him in need of a shower. He set the water to running and stepped under the hot spray. He tilted his head up so the water ran down his face. The heat of the shower unknotted his tense muscles and he gradually relaxed, though his mind was still troubled. He shouldn't have left Bobby's the way he did, and he regretted his rudeness now, but at the time he had only been able to think of the confession that had almost slipped out of him.

It was Dean's question that had almost done it. _"And you think you're a better man than him?"_

Sam had been on the cusp of revealing just how well he knew he wasn't a better man. Thankfully, he had held his tongue. He could only imagine the way Dean and Bobby would have looked at him if they'd known just what a mess he'd made of his life.

The water began to cool. Sam hurriedly washed himself and got out of the shower. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he walked into the bedroom and dried himself off quickly. It was early still, but he knew he wasn't going out again that day so he dressed in his sweats.

He padded barefoot into the lounge and grabbed a book from the shelf then dropped down onto the couch. He wanted to lose himself into someone else's story for a while. He tried to read for a few minutes, but his mind was still racing with thoughts of what had happened. Sighing, he dropped the book down onto the coffee table and got to his feet. He kept all his medications in the bathroom cabinet and he went there now in search of the one bottle he hadn't touched since leaving the hospital. Cracking the seal on the bottle, he tipped a pill into his hand and dry swallowed it. It was a sedative Doctor Angelus had prescribed for when he was feeling overwhelmed. He hadn't felt the need to have one before now, as he had largely been calm, but tonight he needed a little assistance. He knew that the episodes were affected by stress and the last thing he wanted to do was to slip into the delusion now he was out of the hospital. He had been easier to control inside the hospital, but if it happened on the outside, there was no knowing what he might do. He could turn up at Bobby's and introduce himself as Sam Winchester. The thought of it made him shudder.

The pill worked fast. Soon he was lying back on the couch again feeling pleasantly mellow. He picked up his book again and read a few pages before realizing he wasn't taking in a single word. Dropping it down again, he put his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. His eyes drooped and his muscles relaxed.

He was almost asleep when he heard a knock at the door. His eyes snapped open and he got to unsteady feet. He fumbled with the lock for a moment, and when he got it open, he was stunned to see who was standing on the threshold. It was Dean.

"Hey," he said, smiling at Sam in a remorseful way.

"What are you doing here?" There was no heat in Sam's tone. The pill had washed the anger right out of him.

Dean held up a six-pack of beer. "Can I come in?"

Sam stepped back and Dean walked into the lounge. He gave the room an oblique glance. "Nice place."

Sam nodded vaguely and gestured Dean to an armchair. His brain felt sluggish and dozy and he had a hard time making it cooperate enough to know what he should do. His brain failed him and he merely sat down on the couch.

"I came to say sorry," Dean said. "I shouldn't have lost my temper with you. I was out of line."

Sam shrugged. "It's okay."

"No, it's not. I was wrong. I shouldn't have acted like that. It's just I did know your father, maybe not as well as you, but he was a good man and to hear you talking about him like that…" Dean shook his head. "It rubbed me up the wrong way."

Sam leaned back on the couch and rested his head against the cushion so his head was tilted towards the ceiling.

"Hey, are you okay?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded lazily. "Yeah, just a little inebriated."

"Drunk?"

"Something like that." Sam yawned. "Tell me about him."

"Your dad?"

Sam nodded. "You clearly saw a side of him that I didn't, so tell me about him."

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. "The man liked a drink, but I guess he kept the gambling under wraps, as I never saw him lay a bet outside of hustling pool. He was a badass; no one got the drop on him, though plenty tried. And like I said, he was damn proud of you. He told everyone we met along the road about his brainy kid off at Stanford."

Sam fixed his gaze on Dean. "Really?"

Dean nodded enthusiastically. "Really. In fact, one time, we were on the road together looking for work, and we made a trip into California just so he could show me the place his boy went to school."

"Dad was in California?"

"Yeah. I think he was hoping to catch a sight of you, but we didn't."

Sam sighed heavily. "Why didn't he just come by and see me? He found me easily enough when he needed to tip me up for cash."

Dean's features darkened. "He was a good man."

Sam fought back a yawn. "I guess he was." In truth, he was feeling a lot better about his father after speaking with Dean. He'd never known that his father was proud of him, and the thought of John bragging about his son seemed unreal. It was a double-edged sword though. Gaining new insight into his father made the guilt for killing him so much more acute, and it had been bad enough before.

His eyes pricked and one tear fell. Sam hoped against hope that Dean wouldn't notice, but he was disappointed. Dean leaned forward in his chair and stared at Sam. "You okay?"

Sam nodded and wiped at his face carelessly.

"Look, man, I didn't mean to upset you, talking about your dad, but I figured you'd want to know."

Sam sniffed. "This isn't your fault, it's mine, it's all mine."

Dean looked confused. "How's that?"

Sam scrubbed a hand over his face and looked at Dean. "I can't tell you."

"You can tell me anything." There was something more than a casual offer in Dean's voice. He genuinely wanted Sam to tell him.

Sam was silent for a long time as he considered his options. He could refuse to say more, and he knew Dean wouldn't push, but it felt like he needed to say it. Dean had offered him a gift with his insight to John's feelings for Sam, and the least Sam could do was be honest. Dean had been John's friend. Sam owed him the truth.

He drew a deep breath and fixed his eyes on the opposite wall. "It's my fault that my dad is dead," he said slowly. "I killed him." He chanced a glance at Dean and saw that he looked dumbfounded.

Eventually, Dean spoke. "What happened?"

Sam told him it all, thought every word cost him something. It was the first time he had spoken to anyone about this outside of the hospital, and he was terrified of the reaction. In the hospital, they had been bound by their roles not to betray their true feelings, but here with Dean there was no such protection.

He told him about the night they had been driving back from the bar. It was a rare sober night for Sam, thankfully, but that didn't excuse what had happened. He told him how he had seen the truck in the rear-view mirror, and how he had known somehow that it was going to hit them. He told him how he had sped the car up, trying to evade the truck, but it hadn't been enough. The truck had plowed into them, driving them off the road.

"So you see, it was my fault," Sam finished with a sigh. "I killed my father."

He had prepared himself for a lot of reactions, Dean punching him for one, but Dean managed to catch him off guard. He leaned forward with his hands between his knees and smiled sympathetically at Sam. "It wasn't your fault." Sam opened his mouth to speak, but Dean held up a hand to silence him. "It was an accident. That truck driver killed your father, not you."

Sam shook his head. "You don't understand. I was the one behind the wheel. I should have done more."

Dean braced his hands on his knees. "I am going to tell you something and I want you to listen to me carefully. It wasn't your fault. I was in a car crash once, and my brother was behind the wheel, but it wasn't his fault. We were run off the road by someone else, someone evil. It was his fault, not my brother's."

"I'm sure it wasn't," Sam said consolingly. "But this was different. The truck driver that hit us wasn't evil, he was innocent."

Dean got to his feet and made a pass of the room. "No, Sam, just trust me on this, it wasn't your fault."

Sam decided to humor him. "And how are you supposed to know that?"

"Because it was you behind the wheel, Sammy, when I had my crash."

Sam jerked as if he had been punched. "No!"

"Yes!" Dean walked towards him, but Sam held up a hand to stop him. Dean paused halfway across the room and then came closer anyway. "You were driving, Sam. Me and Dad were hurt so you were taking us to the hospital, but that truck ran us off the road. The truck driver was possessed by a demon. You remember?"

Sam scrambled to his feet and stood behind the couch, creating a barrier between him and Dean. "I don't know what you're talking about," he lied.

"You do," Dean said emphatically. "And if you try, you'll remember. My name is Dean Winchester. You are Sam Winchester. We're brothers."

Sam felt like he had been sucker punched in the gut. He had thought he had made a friend in Dean, but it was all an act. He felt like the biggest fool alive. "How do you know about that?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"I know because I have lived it," Dean said. "Come on, Sam, you know it's the truth."

"What did you do, break into the hospital and read my file?"

"Yes," Dean said honestly. "Cas took us there."

"Us? Bobby's in on this too."

"It's not what you're thinking," Dean said. "We're not screwing with you. I _am _your brother, and Bobby and Cas are your friends. We broke into the hospital because we needed to know what had happened to you. We had been searching for you for weeks."

Sam shook his head. "I don't know why you are doing this, but you need to stop. My name is Sam Wesson. I don't have a brother, and I never met you before today."

"Sam, please," Dean said desperately. "Look into my eyes and tell me I'm lying."

"No!" Sam said harshly. "You need to leave now."

"I'm not going anywhere until you listen to me."

Adrenaline burned through Sam, fighting the affects of the sedative he had taken. He crossed the room and grabbed Dean's collar. "Get out!"

Dean struggled but he seemed leery of hurting Sam so his movements were only halfhearted. Sam was able to drag him to the door. He had trouble opening the door and manhandling Dean out of it at the same time, but he eventually managed. He pushed Dean back and he stumbled and fell back onto his butt.

He looked up at Sam desperately. "Please don't do this."

"You're sick!" Sam spat. "Messing with me like this. You stay away from me!"

Dean scrambled to his feet, but before could get to the door Sam slammed it shut in his face. He hammered on the door and begged Sam to talk to him. Sam dropped down onto the couch and rubbed a hand over his face, closing his eyes. He didn't know why Dean would lie to him like that other than for amusement. Whatever the reason, it was sick, and Sam wanted nothing more to do with him.

"Now, Sam, that was rude," a smooth familiar voice said.

Sam's eyes snapped open and he looked across the room. "Doctor Angelus?"

The doctor smiled. "Yes, it's me. Now, let's talk about what you just did to poor Dean. He was only trying to tell you the truth, you know."

"How did you get in here?" Sam asked dumbly.

Doctor Angelus sighed. "Of course that's what your puny human mind would focus on, stupid boy." She patted down the front of her skirt. "I have a problem that you need to help me solve."

"I don't understand," Sam said.

"I know you don't," she said with a soft smile. "You will soon enough. Now, we need to leave before Dean manages to break down your door."

She crossed the room and pressed her fingers against Sam's forehead. He felt nothing as consciousness was swept away from him.

* * *

**How much do you hate me for that cliffy? Not to worry. I won't leave you hanging for the next chapter long. **


	13. Chapter 13

**Thanks go to Gredelia1 for pre-reading and to Snarkymuch2 for giving me the plot bunny. This story is un-beta'd so any mistakes that remain are my own. **

**I just realized I answered the last batch of reviews while signed in to my Twilight account. Sorry about that. **

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

When Sam's eyes opened, he was lying on a grungy floor. He raised his head slowly and looked around. He was in a cavernous room with a high ceiling and rust spotted walls. The floor was concrete and there were deep divots as if heavy machinery had been bolted down but had since been removed. There was a huge door that took up most of one wall.

He pushed himself to his feet and crossed the room on shaky legs. His head felt fuzzy and he recognized the feeling from his last episode in the hospital. He'd been given heavy sedatives. He made his way over to the huge door and fumbled with the control panel at the side. It was closed, but with a few jabs of his elbow, it snapped open. His hopes of an escape were dashed; someone had been at the inside of the control panel with what looked like a hammer. There were scraps of plastic and broken wires poking out in all directions.

Sam groaned and slammed the panel closed. He was back to square one, no idea of how to escape and no idea what he was doing here in the first place. Why would Doctor Angelus have brought him here? It made no sense.

He licked his dry lips and thought of water. He didn't know how long he had been here, but it was long enough for his throat to have dried and his mouth to feel tacky. He knew it was doing him no good to stand around feeling sorry for himself; he needed to find a way out. The main door was no good, but there had to be another exit. Staff needed a way to come and go. His eyes scanned the walls, and he saw a door leading into what he had guessed was office space. He walked over towards the door, his bare feet scraping against the hard floor, and flung open the door. It was unlocked, which surprised Sam, but it only led into a small room. There was a door with a glass pane. Sam tried the door but it was locked. He wiped a hand over the grimy window, and looked out. All he could see was gloom.

Futility overwhelmed him. He was truly trapped in here, alone. At least he thought he was alone. He heard heels clacking on the floor and his heart rate increased. The doctor was back.

"Oh, Sam, where are you?" she called.

Sam swallowed thickly and looked around the room for something to use as a weapon. There was nothing; the room had been stripped of anything useful. He crept over to the door and pressed himself up against the wall. If she came into the room, he could get the jump on her. He didn't relish the idea of attacking a woman, but the woman in question had kidnapped him and dumped him in this place.

He heard the heels clack closer to the door and he braced himself to attack, but suddenly she was there, standing in front of him.

"Please, just let me go," Sam begged, not to proud to show her just how freaked out he was.

"This is quite the comedown for you, isn't it, Sam?" she jeered. "The mighty hunter, savior of the world, reduced to this sniveling mess."

Sam felt a surge of anger that she was using his illness against him. It was a low blow. She, of all people, knew just how much Sam had suffered because of his delusions, and she was twisting that now to hurt him.

"Why are you doing this?" Sam asked plaintively.

She threw back her head and laughed. "Haven't you figured it out yet, Sam?"

"Figured what out? I don't understand."

Her smile grew impossibly wider. "I did a better job on you than I thought. You are quite the achievement. Your brain is truly and irrevocably ruined. You will never be what you were."

"What I was?" Sam didn't understand. He never wanted to be what he was again. He'd been a waster, an alcoholic drifter with no prospects. His life wasn't all that special now, but it was more than it had been.

The doctor sighed. "I see I am going to have to put this into simple terms if your middling mind is going to be able to keep up. There are two worlds for you, Sam, one is the truth and the other is a delusion."

"I know that," Sam said.

"But what you don't know is that you're living the lie."

Sam's mind reeled. He knew what she was saying, but he refused to accept it. If she was telling the truth, the last year of his life had been a waste. He had abandoned his family, his brother…

"What is your name, Sam?" she asked.

"Sam Wesson," he said doggedly.

She threw up her arms. "I will never understand Castiel's obsession with you humans. You are bullheaded to the extreme. Here I am, telling you the truth at last, and yet you refuse to hear it."

It was the mention of Castiel that did it. With it came dawning realization, and terrible guilt. He knew who she was; the only thing he didn't know was why she had done this to him.

She looked into his eyes and smiled. "I see the penny has dropped. What's your name, Sam?"

Sam looked at her with pure loathing in his eyes. "Sam Winchester, you sick bitch."

She clapped slowly. "Finally. And do you know who I am?"

"Raphael." He forced himself to smile. "Getting in touch with your feminine side again?"

She snapped out a hand and struck him across the face. His teeth ground against his cheek and he felt blood pool in his mouth. He spat blood on the floor.

"I expect such mockery from your brother, but I thought you were beyond schoolyard insults."

Sam sneered at her. "I guess when you were screwing around with my head you released my inner child."

"And what a child it was. Weeks of listening to you snivel about your dead brother and how you killed your girlfriend. I was ready to discharge you a day after I took you."

"Weeks?" Sam asked. "How long was I in the hospital?"

She tapped a finger against her chin. "You remember your last 'episode'? That was the night I brought you to the hospital. The pizza, leaving Bobby's, it was all real. I followed you from the old man's house and snatched you from the parking lot. I had been waiting for days for my chance, but your brother barely left your side."

Sam was relieved that he'd only been done a matter of weeks rather than the year he believed. He could only imagine how Dean would have suffered if it had been a whole year. It had been bad enough as it was. How was he supposed to make things right with his brother? He had thrown him bodily from the apartment, when all Dean had done was tell him the truth.

"Why did you do this? How did you do this?"

"I would have thought the why was obvious," she said. "I needed Castiel distracted from the war. And it worked wonderfully. He spent the last six weeks chasing his tail searching for you instead of focusing on the important things. His love for you and your brother was always his greatest weakness. As for how, it is a thrilling tale. I inserted myself into the hospital a week before I took you, rewriting memories so they believed I had always been there. From there I altered the memories of the staff, making them believe you had spent months there. I even made some friends for you. You remember Marcy? I didn't bother with the patients. They were already crazy. Who would believe them if they told the truth?"

"It seems like a lot of work for an archangel to go to," Sam said. "Cas has you on the run."

She stiffened. "Castiel has been blessed with luck and a powerful ally."

Sam shrugged. "If you say so. I think you're getting rusty. Archangels aren't what they used to be." He smiled wickedly. "I should know. I slammed your brothers in the cage after all."

She lurched forward and gripped the front of Sam's t-shirt. "You will not speak of them again. My brothers are great and powerful, and when I have squashed Castiel like a bug they will be freed so the foretold battle can commence again."

"You can try," Sam said. "But we'll only smack them down. It's what we do."

He hands made their way to his throat and squeezed. He felt the crushing pain as his windpipe was constricted and darkness hovered at the edge of his vision. He thought he was going to die, and the very worst part of it was that he would never be able to tell Dean just how sorry he was.

* * *

When he came to, he was lying on the floor in the main room again. He wasn't tied up, but he figured Raphael didn't need to restrain him. Her presence alone was enough to keep him secured. He didn't know how long had passed while he was unconscious, but the light of the high windows was gone, and the room was cast into gloomy darkness.

"Finally, you're awake," the hated voice of Raphael said. "I thought I was going to have to get a bucket of water to bring you round."

Sam massaged his throat and he felt the tenderness there. He would, if he didn't already, have some impressive bruises there. "Bitch." He had tried for a curse but it came out as a croak. She'd done some damage when she'd choked him, which was what she'd clearly wanted. If she'd merely wanted him unconscious, she could have done that without injuring him at all.

His mind tried to process all that she had told him and why she had done it. He would have liked to blame Castiel for this mess, but he couldn't. He'd allowed himself to be tricked into believing the lie so easily. She had changed his memories, implanting false ones, but he had accepted them. Dean would never have done that… Dean. How could he have abandoned him like that? Dean would have fought the lie, trusting in the delusion. He'd managed to break free of the djinn's spell, risking his own life to free himself.

That was the very worst part of what Raphael had done to him; she damaged his relationship with Dean. He could feel the change still. He knew on the intellectual level that Dean was his brother and he loved him, but he couldn't feel it. There was numbness where there had been a bond before. Somehow, in all Raphael's twisting and replacing, she'd broken something. It was the same with Bobby and Castiel; he could think of them but there was no emotional attachment to the memories, when he would have died willingly for them before.

"What are you thinking, Sam?" she asked.

"I'm thinking how much I hate you, and how much I am going to enjoy seeing Cas blow you away."

She shook her head. "Castiel is a gnat. He can't hurt me. I am an archangel."

"So why is Cas still alive? If you're so powerful, why haven't you killed him already?" He roved on, answering his own question. "I'll tell you why, because he's smarter than you. He's smart enough to keep you on your toes even though you distracted him. You had him chasing his tail for six weeks, you said, and yet you're still here screwing with me rather than cracking open the cage and letting your psychotic brothers out."

Her expression hardened and she punched Sam across the jaw. The blow rocked his head to the side and he felt fresh blood pooling in his mouth. She was furious, which was all to the good if Sam's plan was going to work. He was a dead man, he knew she would never let him go now, but if he could keep her distracted, Cas would have a chance at beating her down once and for all.

"Weak," he said, "and powerless."

"You think I'm powerless," she asked sardonically. "We'll see about that."

Sam knew from the glint in her eyes that more pain was coming, and though he didn't relish the prospect, he wasn't afraid. He would bear it all if it gave Castiel a fighting chance.


	14. Chapter 14

**Thanks go to Gredelia1 for pre-reading and to Snarkymuch2 for giving me the plot bunny. This story is un-beta'd so any mistakes that remain are my own. **

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

Dean stumbled down the stairs and into the lounge. It was early, not yet dawn, but his night had been broken and full of torturous dreams, and he was done trying to sleep. He went into the empty kitchen and set the coffee machine to working. Leaning against the counter, he took in the room.

Bobby was absent, probably still sleeping, and Cas was in Heaven fighting his tireless war against Raphael. And Sam was… gone. Dean felt lonely. He wished his brother, his _real_ brother was there to talk to him, but he wasn't, which was precisely the problem.

If their situations were reversed, Sam would probably know exactly what to do to help Dean. He would know the right thing to say. He sure as hell wouldn't have blurted out the truth, freaking Dean out and probably scaring him off for good. Dean couldn't help it though. Listening to Sam blaming himself for what had happened had affected Dean, and he'd wanted to reassure Sam. It had all got out of control from there. He couldn't be sure the real Sam, the Sam that knew who and what he was, didn't believe that he'd killed their father too. It hadn't been Sam's fault, it had been Dean's. John had made the deal to save his life.

The coffee machine gurgled as it finished, pulling Dean from his thoughts. He poured himself a mug and carried it out onto the back porch. The sun was just beginning to creep over the horizon, casting light over the stacks of cars.

Dean stared out over the scrap-yard and his mind travelled back over the years to his childhood. John used to come to Bobby for help with cases, and Sam and Dean would spend hours running around the yard, using it as their own personal playground while John and Bobby were closeted up together in the house. They had been good times, and the thought that those easier times were gone forever made Dean sad.

He heard footsteps behind him, and he knew who it would be without turning. "Morning, Bobby."

"Dean." Bobby's tone made it clear that Bobby's bad mood of the past two days hadn't softened at all. He understood it, even agreed with it, but that didn't stop him wishing Bobby would give him a break. He had screwed up, he knew that better than anyone, and he didn't need Bobby's omnipresent gloom to keep reminding him.

"You want coffee?" Dean asked.

"If I want it, I will get it myself."

Dean wondered why Bobby had come out at all if all he was going to do was demonstrate just how angry he still was. He decided to have a last ditch effort at making things right with the older hunter. He turned and looked up at him. "I'm sorry, Bobby. I know I screwed up, but don't you think you've made that point clear? Do you still have to be pissy with me?"

Bobby crossed the porch and sat down on the opposite side of the steps. He scrubbed a hand through his beard and looked hard at Dean. "What makes you think I'm pissed at you?"

Dean laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, I don't know, maybe the fact you're barely speaking to me."

"And I'm usually so chatty?"

"You don't usually hold back," Dean said.

Bobby sighed. "You messed up, Dean, messed up big."

"I didn't mean to," Dean said. "It was just listening to him talking like that…"

"It was hard on you, God knows I get it. You shouldn't have been there in the first place, though. If you'd listened to me, all this could have been avoided. I told you not to go, but as always, you thought you knew better than everyone else."

Dean gritted his teeth and bore it. He knew he deserved Bobby's wrath, and in a perverse way, he felt better for hearing it.

"Thanks to you, Sam isn't going to talk to either of us now. I went by there yesterday and—"

"You did?" Dean knew Bobby had gone out the day before, but he didn't realize he'd gone to Sam's.

"I did. And I couldn't get Sam to answer the door. Now, because of you, we've lost the tenuous connection we had going on."

"I'm sorry, Bobby," Dean said for what felt like the hundredth time.

"I know you are, boy," Bobby said and Dean thought, hopefully, that there was some softening in Bobby's tone. "But because of your hot head, it's all screwed to hell. Sam isn't going to talk to us, and we've no way of knowing what he's doing now. We have no way of reconnecting with him and making him believe the truth."

Dean scowled. "That's what I was trying to do. How were you planning on breaking the news to him that his life is a lie and the delusion is real?"

"I don't know," Bobby said irritably. "But I sure as hell wasn't planning on doing it on my second time meeting the guy."

"He's my brother!" Dean said angrily. It wasn't his second time meeting him, dammit; it was the latest in a lifetime of memories. He refused to see Sam as someone new as Bobby seemed determined to do.

"Yeah, he's your brother," Bobby said tiredly. "And thanks to you, we might never see him again."

Dean pushed off of the steps and went into the house. He'd not driven the Impala since the day after Sam went missing, but he grabbed the keys up now and stomped out to the yard. He wasn't going to listen to Bobby's accusations anymore. He was going to go for a long drive until they'd both had a chance to calm down.

* * *

Dean had been on the road for a few hours, just driving around the city limits, when his phone rang. He checked the caller ID and saw it was Bobby. Not wanting to get in on another round of just how much he had screwed up, he diverted it to voicemail. Less than a minute later, it rang again. Dean diverted it once again and tossed it onto the seat beside him.

His determination to avoid Bobby lasted through the next few calls before an idea occurred to him. Bobby seemed determined to get hold of him; he might have news of Sam. He dialed up his messenger service and heard Bobby's voice sounding harassed. "Dean, answer the phone dammit. It's Sam."

Dean did a u-turn and directed the car back to Bobby's, dialing as he went. Bobby answered on the first ring. "Dean?"

"What's happened to Sam?" he asked immediately.

"I don't know. Sheriff Mills turned up looking for him. The hospital reported him missing. Apparently he missed an appointment with his doctor."

Dean's chest contracted painfully. "Has anyone spoken to him?"

"No, he's not answering the phone to the Doc, and when the Sheriff went by his place he didn't answer."

Dean took a calming breath. "Okay, I'll go by his place and see if he's there."

"If he wouldn't answer his door to the cops, he's not going to answer it for you."

"I don't plan on knocking, Bobby." Dean was hoping Sam was just overwhelmed and pissed by everything and was ignoring the door, but he couldn't entirely dispel his fears that something bad had happened to him. The image of his brother lying supine on the floor of a dirty cabin in Rhode Island came to him. That had been a spill of Hell from behind the wall. What if the same thing had happened again?

He hung up the phone and turned onto the main road that would lead him to Sam's apartment. Pushing the car to its limits got him to Sam's fast, and soon he was jumping out of the car and crossing the small parking lot.

He hammered on the door. "Sam, let me in. I know you're pissed, man, but people are worried about you."

There was no response. He glanced up and down the street then squatted in front of the door. He inserted the long prong of the pick into the lock and began the laborious task of finding the catch. Sweat beaded on his brow as he worked, nervous under the pressure of the moment and fear of what he would find inside. The lock clicked, and Dean straightened. He cracked open the door and peered inside.

"Sam, you here?"

There was a sound from the bedroom, and Dean crept to the door. He had a thought that he might find his brother in bed, but he figured he would deal with that if it happened. Sam could call the cops, but the Sheriff would smooth things over for him. The more pressing concern was the further damage it could do to his relationship with Sam.

He pushed open the door, holding his breath, but there was no one there. Sam's bed was neatly made, but he was nowhere in sight.

Dean turned away and then took an involuntary step back. He was no longer alone, though it wasn't Sam there with him or even the cops, it was Abiel.

"You!" he hissed.

Abiel smiled. "Yes, me."

"What have you done with Sam?"

Abiel's smile widened. "You'll see."

Then, faster than Dean could process it, he was in front of Dean and his fingers were pressed against Dean's temple.

* * *

Dean's eyes snapped open and he was met with an unfamiliar sneering smile. "Dean, so good of you to join us," the woman said.

He pushed himself to a sitting position and rubbed his aching head. He guessed Abiel hadn't thought to catch him after knocking him out. There was an impressive lump on his temple.

"Let me guess, Raphael? Don't think much of the new vessel. At least the last chick was a hottie, now you're a, what, heavenly librarian?"

Raphael smiled grimly. "The wife of a preacher actually. I answered her prayers quite literally. She wanted to feel the presence of the divine."

Dean scoffed. "And you think you count as divine?"

"I am an archangel. I am the very essence of divine."

"And taking my brother and screwing with his memories, that's divine is it?"

She smiled. "Perhaps it doesn't count as divine, but it certainly was fun."

Dean's hands clenched into fists. "You bitch. Where's Sam?"

"He's close," she said, "He'll be glad to see you. He's been waiting for you to arrive; he even tried calling to you a few times."

Dean's breath came quicker. He could only imagine what she had been doing to Sam to make him call for Dean.

Oblivious to Dean's tormented thoughts, Raphael continued. "He knows the truth now, you know? It was quite the revelation for him."

Dean closed his eyes and relished the deliciousness of relief for a moment. They were still screwed, and there was no knowing what had happened to Sam while Raphael had him, but at least he knew the truth now. It didn't help their immediate predicament, of course, but Dean would take the victories where he could get them.

"Now, I think you two have been apart long enough," Raphael said. "It's time you were reunited with your brother."

She crossed the wide room and disappeared through a door. Dean heard a scuffling sounds and a moan which sounded horribly like Sam, then she reappeared, dragging something behind her. With a sinking heart, Dean realized it was Sam that she was dragging. Dean scrambled to his feet and stumbled towards them. Raphael released Sam and he fell to the floor with a meaty thud. Dean dropped to his knees beside his brother and turned him gently. As he caught sight of Sam's face, he sucked in a breath between his teeth. Sam's face was a mess of bruises and shallow cuts, and there were bruises around his throat, Dean realized someone, presumably Raphael, had choked Sam.

He patted Sam's cheek gently and he was rewarded with a glimpse of iris between cracked lids. "Sammy?"

Sam licked his cracked lips and winced. "Hey."

Dean smiled. "You okay?"

Sam nodded. "Never better." Groaning, he rolled onto his side and pushed himself to a sitting position. Dean helped him with an arm at his back.

"This is such a touching moment," Raphael said. "It seems a shame to interrupt it, but I am short on time. It's only a matter of time before Castiel realizes you have been taken too, and then he will be hot on my heels. His love for you hairless apes knows no bounds."

Dean patted his brother's arm in reassurance and comfort and then got to his feet. "So, what are you going to do?"

"I would have thought that was obvious. I am going to kill you. Castiel was rendered useless to the cause when Sam was taken. Imagine what he will be like when he is focused on avenging you."

Dean swallowed. He had no fear of his own death. There was no fear of the unknown for him as he had seen it before. What scared him was his brother's death. He could leave the world behind without regret, but he couldn't bear the thought of a world in which his brother wasn't. He had lived that life before, and he had no inclination to do it again. He knew it was selfish, to expect his brother to live through what he could not, but he never claimed to be a selfless man.

"I see I have your attention," Raphael said. "Now, as the older brother you have the perk of deciding what happens next. I only need one of you dead, as the survivor's devastation will spur Castiel's vengeance, so who should die?"

There was no question in Dean's mind. He knew it had to be him. Before he could speak up, Sam spoke.

"Kill me."

"Sam, no!"

"Let me guess, you want to be the one," Raphael said to Dean. "This is quite the conundrum for you both. Neither wants to live without the other, and yet one must. Now, who will it be?"

"Dean, please," Sam croaked. "Let it be me."

Dean shook his head jerkily. "No, Sammy. I can't."

"You don't understand. I can't live like this. She broke me. I don't care anymore."

Dean's brow creased with confusion. "What do you mean?"

Raphael laughed. "Poor Sam has a confession to make. I have had plenty of time to sift through his mind, and the things I found there would make you weep."

Dean didn't know how he mustered the will when everything about him screamed defeated, but Sam got to unsteady feet and faced off against Raphael. "Stop. You want to kill someone, kill me, but he doesn't need to know."

Raphael shook her head slowly. "Sam, you are asking for mercy from me. After everything you did, after you trapped Michael in the cage, you think I would care enough to offer you mercy."

"Please." Sam was pleading with Raphael, but Dean didn't know why. What was she talking about? What had she found in Sam's mind that he didn't want Dean to know?

Raphael tilted her head to the side and considered Sam for a moment. "I won't tell him, on one condition."

"Anything," Sam said his tone layered with relief.

"You must let him die. He can go onto Heaven, never knowing the truth, as long as you stand aside."

Dean felt an inkling of hope. He didn't want to die, he wasn't suicidal, but he didn't want his brother to die for him. Whatever it was that Sam was hiding from him was big; Sam clearly didn't want Dean to know, perhaps it was better that he didn't.

"No," Sam spoke through gritted teeth. "Kill me!"

Raphael smiled. "That's a coward's answer. You are a coward. You would rather die than have your brother know the truth."

Sam shrugged. "So I'm a coward. I don't care."

Dean was a coward, too. He feared his brother's death more than his own because he knew which was the option that would break him, and it wasn't his own demise.

Raphael crossed the room and rifled through a canvas holdall that Dean recognized as own from the trunk of the Impala. His heart sank as he knew what she was going to produce from its depths. "I hope you don't mind me borrowing this," she said. "I thought it would be poetic to kill you with your own gun."

Dean realized that the question of who would die was never really in question. She had decided from the beginning that Dean was the one that was going to die.

Sam stepped closer to Dean and his hand gripped Dean's forearm. Dean thought it was to steady him as he seemed to be wavering on his feet. Dean placed his own hand over Sam's and squeezed. "It's okay. Sammy."

Sam shook his head. "No."

Raphael raised the gun and thumbed off the safety. "Anything you want to say to your brother, Sam? Any confessions you want to make."

Sam shook his head. "Nothing."

"Pity."

Dean heard the crack of the gun and he felt himself colliding with the floor, but the pain he was expecting didn't come. He raised his head slowly from the floor and looked up at Raphael. She wasn't looking at him, she was looking at Sam, and her face was a picture of fury.

"You dare!"

It was only then, as Sam dropped to the floor, that Dean noticed the blood blossoming on the front of his brother's shirt.

"Sam!"

Sam rolled his head towards Dean. "Sorry."

* * *

**Am I evil? Yeah, I'm evil. The next (and last) chapter will be with you soon. **


	15. Chapter 15

**Thanks go to Gredelia1 for pre-reading and to Snarkymuch2 for giving me the plot bunny. This story is un-beta'd so any mistakes that remain are my own. **

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

Dean's heart was in his throat. He couldn't process what had just happened. He knelt beside Sam and pressed his hands over the center of the Sam's chest, where the blood was pulsing worse.

"Cas! I need you!" he bellowed.

There was a tittering laugh in response. "He can't come, Dean. He can't find you. He did too good of a job protecting you from angels back in the day. He will hear you, of course, and it will be killing him to not be able to help, but there is nothing he can do about it."

Dean ignored her, directing his attention to his brother who was fast bleeding out on the floor.

"Sammy, open your eyes," he commanded.

Sam's eyes cracked open and his lips twisted into a snarl of pain. "Hurts."

"I know it does, but you've got to hold on, okay? Stay awake."

Sam coughed and a trickle of blood rolled down his chin. Dean wiped it away as if by not seeing it the damage wasn't there. The damage was done though, and Dean knew it. He knew enough medicine to know that the sick gurgle rasp of Sam's breath meant that the bullet had hit a lung, and Sam was slowly drowning as his lungs filled with blood. He had minutes left… if that.

"Why did you do it?" Dean asked. "Why did you get in the way?"

"Had to," Sam said weakly. "I felt it again."

"Felt what?"

Sam drew a gurgling breath. "The bond."

"This is a truly heartbreaking picture," Raphael said. "I think I will just enjoy the show for a moment."

Dean turned to face her. "Help him."

She raised an eyebrow. "You cannot be serious. I just shot him. Why on earth would I help him now?"

"Because he's not the one you want to kill. You wanted to kill me, so fix Sam up and you can kill me. I won't fight. I won't try to run. I just want my brother to be okay."

"Touching words," Raphael said, "but they mean nothing to me. You or Sam, it makes no difference as long as one of you is dead. And I must admit, watching you bowed over Sam as he slips away is very satisfying."

Dean cursed and pressed down harder on Sam's wound, trying in vain to staunch the rapid flow of blood.

Sam grimaced and lifted one shaky hand from the floor. He laid it over Dean's and squeezed his fingers. Dean hated to think it, but it felt like a goodbye.

"Just hold on a little longer, Sammy," he said. "We'll get you out of here."

Raphael laughed, but Dean ignored her. He had more pressing concerns. Sam was trying to speak to him. His voice was barely a whisper, and Dean had to duck his head to hear it.

"I didn't feel it," he said. "Not after what she did. But I feel it now, and I'm sorry." Every word seem to cost him something. His skin was white against the grey of the floor.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean said, not understanding what his brother was saying, but wanting to reassure him just the same. "I'm here, and I'm not going to let you go."

Sam's lips curved into a smile. "I know. Thank you." He locked eyes with Dean for a second and some unspoken communication passed between them. Then Sam's eyes slid closed and his hand dropped from on top Dean's and slipped down onto the floor.

"No, Sam, no!" Dean was panicked. Not even aware of what he was doing he lifted his hands from Sam's chest and cupped his face, smearing blood on Sam's ashen cheeks. "Sam! Open your eyes!"

Sam's eyes remained steadfastly closed and his face was lax of all emotion. Dean shoved at him, knowing he was hurting his brother but desperate for any sign of life.

There was noise around him, voices shouting and what sounded a rush of flames, but Dean was oblivious to it all. All he cared about was making his brother open his eyes again.

"Sam!" he spoke through gritted teeth. "Open your eyes!"

"He cannot," a voice said softly.

Dean raised his head and looked into Castiel's eyes. "Help him!"

"I will, but we cannot stay here. Raphael will be back soon."

Castiel eased his arms under Sam and pulled him against his chest. Sam's head lolled back and his mouth dropped open.

Seeing Sam lying, apparently dead, in Castiel's arms stole the last of Dean's composure. All he cared about was the fact the arms holding Sam were not his own. He surged forward. "Let him go!" Hands gripped his upper arms and held him back. Castiel looked at him sympathetically then nodded to whoever was holding Dean.

With a rustling sound, Castiel and Sam disappeared, and Dean struggled harder against the arms holding him.

"Calm, Dean." An unfamiliar female voice spoke in his ear, and then Dean felt the stomach lurching sensation of being shifted through space.

He had been brought back to Bobby's place, and as he blinked and looked around he saw Sam lying on the floor with Bobby and Castiel bending over him. Even as he watched, Castiel turned Sam on his side and examined the wound on his back.

"Through and through," Bobby said knowledgably.

Castiel nodded. "That will help."

"Get off of him!" Dean snapped and yanked against the person restraining him. Their grip was loose and he was able to free himself. He dropped down beside Sam and placed a hand on his face. "Heal him!" He was speaking to Castiel, but his eyes were fixed on his brother.

Castiel placed his hands over Sam's chest and white light poured from his palms. For a second, there was nothing else, and then Sam's eyes snapped open and he drew in a gasping breath.

Dean breathed an audible sigh of relief and placed a hand on his brother's chest. "It's okay, Sam. You're fine now."

Sam skittered back on the floor until his shoulders hit the wall. Dean, Bobby and Castiel were still crouched on the floor where they'd been tending to Sam. Their eyes followed him as he plucked at the blood soaked fabric of his t-shirt.

"You're okay, boy," Bobby said in a surprisingly soft tone. "Just take it easy."

Sam's bloody hands gripped the wall and he pushed himself to his feet. He stripped off his t-shirt and tossed it on to the floor.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean asked. He was scared. Sam seemed to be in shock. He figured waking up on the floor, covered in your own blood had to be a bit of a shock, but there was the fact Sam wasn't talking, just reacting.

Sam help up an hand and cleared his throat. "I just need a minute."

Dean eased himself to his feet and stepped back so as to give Sam some space. "Okay, whatever you need."

Sam nodded and drew a deep breath. He looked down at his bloodied chest and run his hand over the place the bullet had penetrated. There wasn't even a scar to show for his injury; Castiel had healed him completely.

Dean turned his attention to Castiel. "Thanks, Cas. Really, man, thanks."

Castiel nodded. "I am sorry I did not find you sooner."

"How did you find us?" Sam asked, and all eyes snapped to him. He had lost a little of the wild look in his eyes now and his breaths were coming easier. He smiled ruefully at Dean and stepped away from the wall.

"The bullet's trajectory shattered your ribs," Castiel said simply. "The sigils were obliterated and I was able to sense you."

Dean nodded thoughtfully. It was awful to be grateful that his brother had been hurt, but if Raphael had been smart, and aimed for the head, they might never have been found."

"What happened to Raphael?" Dean asked. "I guess I missed a lot." He looked around the room at the three people that had apparently followed them back to Bobby's place. They had the haughty look of angels. One of them was a woman, and Dean guessed that it had been her that had restrained him. He nodded to her now and she smiled.

"Raphael has been banished for the moment," Castiel said. "But as Michael proved, a holy oil molotov only lasts so long."

Dean grinned. "You set her ass on fire?"

Castiel nodded. "It seemed to right thing to do."

* * *

Three hours later, fresh from the shower, Sam sat on the back steps and cradled a mug of coffee in his hands. His mind was still trying to process everything that had happened, and, obscurely, the lack of pain did not help. He had been shot in the chest, ribs had been shattered and his lung had been punctured, but he felt as if he had just woken up after a long and satisfying sleep. It was a lot to take in.

He heard the door open behind him and he knew it would be Dean coming to join him. He had been reluctant to be apart from Sam, even for the time it took Sam to shower and wash of the blood. Sam had said, before he came outside, that he needed a minute, but he guessed that a minute was all Dean was able to afford him.

He understood. If the situation was reversed he would likely be worse than Dean was now, but it didn't make it any easier to bear. At least it was only Dean coming out. Since Raphael's temporary defeat, it had been explained to Sam, Dean and Bobby that they were now under the protection of angels, quite literally. The three angels that had come back to the house with there were now there on a permanent basis to offer some protection if Raphael came again. What they could do against an archangel Sam didn't know, but it was better than they had been before.

"You okay?" Dean asked, taking a seat beside Sam.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"It's okay to not be fine, you know? You were shot, Sam, and held hostage for two days by an archangel, not even mentioning all the crap you went through before that. Any of that is a lot for someone to take in."

Sam considered. Everything that had happened to him was so confused and fragmented it felt like a dream. His memories of the hospital were the hardest to decipher; he had trouble working out what had really happened and what had been part of the false memories implanted by Raphael.

"I will be fine," he amended. "I just need a little time."

"Sure you do," Dean said, clapping him on the back.

Sam took a sip of his cooling coffee and looked out over the yard. "Are you okay, Dean?"

Dean was silent so long that Sam turned back to look at him. "Not really," Dean admitted. "When we were there, in that warehouse, I thought you were gone, Sam. I thought she'd killed you."

Sam nodded. "Me too."

Dean swallowed thickly. "I don't ever want to feel like that again."

Sam smiled. "I'll do my best not to piss off any more archangels."

Dean cracked a smile. "You make sure you do." His expression became somber again. "Sam, when you were… you know, you said you didn't feel it. What were you talking about?"

"Do you trust me, Dean?" Sam asked.

"You know I do."

"Then don't ask. There are some things you don't need to know."

Dean looked like he wanted to argue, but he satisfied himself with a nod. "Okay."

Sam wanted nothing less than to have to explain just how great a breach Raphael had formed between them.

The door behind them opened and Castiel came out. He moved between them, down the stairs, and then stood facing them both. "I owe you an apology, Sam," he said. "I never meant for you or Dean to be dragged into this war. I never imagined Raphael would stoop to these depths. If I had, I would never have left you alone for even a minute."

"It's okay, Cas," Sam said. "It wasn't your fault. Raphael is a raving lunatic. You weren't to know she would come after us."

Castiel nodded but he still looked troubled and something Raphael said occurred to Sam. "Cas, Raphael said you have a powerful ally. Who is it? Did you find God?"

Castiel smiled ruefully. "I wish that I had." He sighed. "I have a confession to make. I have been working with Crowley."

"Crowley!" Dean spat. "You're kidding me, right?"

Sam laid a hand on Dean's arm in silent remonstration. "Cas, tell us everything."

Castiel raised his eyes hopefully to Sam, and the whole sorry tale poured out.

Sam listened to it in silence. While Dean ranted and raved, Sam took it all in. He didn't know what they were going to do next, but they would come up with a way of defeating Raphael without Crowley. They had to.

But as Sam looked from Castiel to Dean he wasn't thinking of Crowley or Purgatory or souls, he was thinking of how good it felt to be home, and that they could face anything now they were all together again.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone that has been reading and supporting this story. It was a trial to write at times and your reviews, faves and alerts made it all worth it. **

**I hope to see you again all again soon with my next story. **

**Clowns or Midgets x **


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